


YouTube Unsolved

by norman_beetle



Category: jacksepticeye, jacksepticeye egos - Fandom
Genre: Buzzfeed Unsolved References, Gen, This is gonna be good, basically a ripoff, beatrice is ryan, get ready for the real stuff, grayson is a ghost?, grayson is shane, not tellin you now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 01:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16546205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norman_beetle/pseuds/norman_beetle
Summary: Finding a random letter in the woods isn't as great as you think it would be. Especially when it's about the murder of six people that you don't even know the names of. This is the fate bestowed upon Beatrice Johnson and her roommate Grayson Miller. An investigation of a lifetime soon takes place, but everything isn't really as it seems to be on the surface level. Is this murder TRULY unsolved? Or just forgotten?





	1. Prologue

It was nighttime. 

A man walked through the dense woods, watching himself with every step. He couldn’t see at all, and that was a huge problem. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight setting. There, that was better. Now to get back to walking. 

He counted his steps one by one, trying to distract his brain with something to do while he was anticipating the worst. The man knew that he could very well be followed at the moment, and that lurking thought is what kept him moving further and further into these deep, dark woods.

Soon enough, he had reached the biggest tree in the middle of the forest. It loomed above everything else, stretching towards the inky black sky like it wanted to touch it. There weren’t many stars, and the moon looked so far away. The man couldn’t reach the sky, even though he wanted to. He wanted to drift away right now, but he needed to do something first. 

Pointing his flashlight at the base of the tree, he found the crevice hidden in the roots where he could keep the letter safely secured. That was lucky. 

Walking closer, he grabbed the letter from his pocket and kneeled down to tuck in into the crack, making sure it was stuck and wouldn’t blow away. He stood up again, readying his legs to start walking again. 

**“Well well well, didn’t expect someone to be out here this late.”**

The man whipped around, shining the flashlight in the eyes of the man in front of him. His eyes seemed to glow like a cat’s, shining threateningly. He frowned. 

“Get out of here, ghost. I don’t want you messing around with my business.”

The other man looked mockingly offended.  **“Am I just a ghost to you? Or are you too afraid to know that I’m much more?”**

“You are nothing but a spectre. A spectre that’ll get a beatin' if it don’t go away, mind ye’,” The man retorted, a swelling anger rising from inside of him. He made not much of an effort to keep it down. He continued to shine the flashlight in the man’s eyes.

**“My my, quite feisty we are tonight, I must say. Then again, I’ve come to put a stop to this little scavenger hunt you’ve created, and all of the wrenches you’ve thrown in my plans. It all ends right here,”** He spoke with a voice of pure confidence and determination, not letting his voice shake or become unsure. Steady the words were, like he had practiced them a thousand times. The man considered the worst now, which was something he couldn’t help but think about. All that was surrounding him were negative thoughts.

The ‘ghost’ walked closer, a devilish smile growing on his face. With a single move, he grabbed the man’s arm, pulling him down and twisting it painfully. The man let out a yell, trying to suck up the pain, but it kept getting worse. The light was facing the ground, so he couldn’t see anything 4 inches in front of him. He did feel a sharp pain in his shoulder, and he yelled again. He twisted his arm to point the flashlight at himself, looking over to see that the spectre had cut him with a pocketknife. Panicking, he kicked him in the gut, knocking him back and making him stumble in the darkness. The man had to leave.  _ Now.  _

**“YOU’RE NOT GETTING AWAY WITH THIS!”** He yelled, running after the man and grabbing him by the hood of his jacket, choking him. He struggled, but he couldn’t seem to escape from his grasp. Breathing was starting to become difficult. Desperate, he balled his fist and swung his arm around, punching the man square in the face. He felt his hood getting released, and he gasped for air, putting a hand around his throat and having a sudden coughing fit. He heard a growl of frustration from behind him, and he turned around to face the noise.

**“YOU. ARE. NOT. WINNING.”**

A burst of colors through nothing but darkness erupted the man’s senses as he was violently tackled to the ground, forcing himself flat on his back. His phone flew out of his hand and landed somewhere in front of him, but he couldn’t see where, only a beacon of light shining from somewhere in the distance out of the corner of his eye. His true focus was on the figure right on top of him, the one raising his right arm that held the pocketknife. The eyes that were glowing green in the dark. 

The man tried as hard as he could to pry his hand off of his throat, but it seemed to be stuck there like superglue. Soon enough, he was desperate for oxygen again. 

“You aren’t… getting away… away with this…”

**“I get away with everything, Jack. It’s just unfortunate that I have to make this one messy.”**

“T-try me, ye’ g-ghost…” There were white spots appearing in his vision, and everything became blurrier and blurrier. This might be the end, and it might be soon. He braced himself for it.  
  
  


**“I prefer** **demon,** **if you don’t mind.”**


	2. Walkthrough

The forest was always silent.

The woman walked slowly, taking the time to observe the nature around her. It all was so serene and peaceful. Trees stretching up to the heavens, and plenty of them, too. The sky was well past a bright blue, but it was still clinging on like it didn’t want to turn to night. You never got this kind of quiet in the city, which was quite a shame, in all honesty. Busy people and the busy noises that followed them seemed to be a contagious, spreading plague.

It had been a long day at work. There were lots of people all in their own little bubbles, ignoring everyone else unless human contact was absolutely necessary. She had been thinking about quitting her job for a while, but she was always distracted by something else before she could actually commit to leaving. It made her a bit sour about most things nowadays.

Anyways, wandering in the forest seemed like a good idea at the time.

The wind soon turned bitter and unwelcoming. It was early fall, did it get this cold already? The woman felt herself shiver and she rubbed her arms to warm them. She kept walking, the ground becoming more and more uneven as she delved deeper into the woods. What time was it, anyway? Didn't matter. She knew this place like the back of her hand, it wouldn’t take long to get back. She didn’t really want to be here that long, either, because wandering in the woods at night would be both stupid AND dangerous.

Out of the very corner of her eye, she saw something moving ever so slightly in the wind. She whipped her head around to observe the movement and found that it was a piece of paper stuck in a bush. Odd.

She was intrigued, nonetheless. Walking closer to it, she realized it was an envelope, sealed but without a stamp. She plucked it from the bush and turned it around to read the front;

_Open me to reveal the secrets inside._

The woman hesitated. This letter was probably to someone else, and it got stuck in the bush on accident. She felt bad for even picking it up, she really should find the intended receiver of this letter. The woman didn’t do that, though.

She opened it.

Inside, there was a letter folded in thirds. She unfolded it and read;

_Dear C.B reading this **l** etter, _

_**I** su **g** gest t **h** a **t** you not tell anyone about what I will **s** ay to you in this letter right now. This is very important information. _

_Many people were killed in these woods, their **c** orpses never to be found. There **a** re clues to their stories, and they are hidden well. Find the **m** and l **e** a **r** n. Find them and seek revenge. _

_I h **a** ve the first clue hidden in this letter. You must not tell **a** nyone else, swear on it. Well, I know you’ll probably break my promise out of spite, but I hope you make the right **c** hoice here. I hope **t** hat you’ll keep unsolved murders to yourself. _

_F **i** nd their st **o** ries a **n** d find their peace. _

_J._

She stared at the words for a long time, almost to the point where they lost all meaning. The bitter wind shaking the trees picked up and the leaves were rustling faster. This letter was clearly meant for someone else, but _who_ ? Why? There was unsolved _murder_ right in her hand, and she wasn’t even supposed to be holding it. The woman was alone, and no one was around for a half a mile all around her. If someone wanted to solve murder, why would they leave it here? Wasn’t there supposed to be a hidden clue somewhere in the letter? She couldn’t see anything different...

But her brain flipped back on the current moment in time, acknowledging that she needed to get out of this forest. The woman saw it slowly getting darker, and if she stayed any longer she wouldn’t be able to see very clearly. There was a buzz in her pocket, and she reached in to pull out her phone. It was a text from her roommate;

_Where u at Beatricee? You ded or smth?_

Beatrice rolled her eyes and put her phone back into her pocket. In an act of impulse, she folded the letter back up and stuffed it back inside the envelope, putting it in her backpack to keep it safe. She steadied herself again, taking a few deep breaths and a quick drink of (now freezing) water. Now, she just had to backtrack and get out of here. No big deal. She knew where she was going.

All of the trek home, she felt like something was watching her every move.  
_________

Walking through the front door, Beatrice stared at the main room of the apartment, realizing _again_ how small it really was from this angle. The open kitchen made the living room bigger than in actuality, and the hallway leading to the bedrooms was wedged in the far right corner. So yes, the place was cramped, _but_ at least it wasn't a wreck. Good, that meant her roommate didn’t mess it up while she was gone. Thank god she didn’t have to do any cleaning.

Her shoulders were sore and her entire body was numb from the cold. She tried to stretch real quick to get her muscles warm again so that she could get to work, and wondered if she should put on the kettle and make tea. Tea sounded grand, after a long, cold walk in the woods. A walk that was interrupted by a letter regarding murder.

_Murder._

Beatrice glanced back over at her backpack ever so slightly. Above all reason telling her not to, she still was holding onto that letter. She knew it wasn’t for her, and she knew that the content of that letter probably, no, DEFINITELY didn’t have anything to do with her.  

Apparently, that didn’t stop her from reaching into her backpack and grabbing it anyway.

She stared at the letter for a moment, feeling its weight in her hands. Still no address of stamp on the front, which made her think. Who was this letter meant for, then? Was it just a sudden chance that she came across it? What if she hadn’t picked it up at all? So many questions came so fast, just by looking at this piece of paper. She didn’t know the answers to any of them.

Beatrice opened the envelope and sat down at the dining table to read through it again. This time, she noticed something _different_ about certain letters in the paragraph. Her hand reached over for a pen on the table before she even knew she was grabbing it. Looking at it carefully, she circled all of the letters, writing them out at the bottom of the paper. When she finished, she stared at them for a long time, the questions in her head creeping back again.

_L i g h t s_

_C a m e r a_

_A c t i o n_

She got lost in the words, desperately trying to figure out their meaning. Was _this_ the first clue? She was sure it was, she couldn’t find anything else out of the ordinary, even after looking through it very closely a couple more times. Still, it was super vague. What did it even mean?

Suddenly, there was a click, signifying that the door had been opened. Her roommate walked in and was surprisingly early. Apparently, the tea would have to wait.

Grayson usually stayed out longer than this, but he _was_ drunk. This was becoming more and more of a trend now, and she didn’t like the change. Still, she was polite about it even though she wanted to say something. Beatrice thought about the clue for a few more seconds.

Then she had an idea.

“Hey, Grayson?”

Her roommate turned to face her, his eyes glazed over. “Yeah?”

“Would you be willing to travel with me tomorrow to the theater downtown?”

Grayson looked at her suspiciously, raising an eyebrow and cocking his head. It looked more animated than usual because of the alcohol, but she could see the faint glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.

“Sure,” He agreed, “I’m in.”  
_________

The next morning, Beatrice woke up with her head at the end of the bed with almost all of the sheets thrown off. She sat up and stared at the wall, trying to adjust her eyes to the light. She glanced over to see that her alarm clock read 10:38 AM. At least she didn’t sleep in until noon.

Beatrice lazily fell off of the bed and got dressed, remembering that today she was going to start her investigation. And if the clue was pointing toward the theater, then that was her best bet. She walked into the living room with the faint smell of alcohol flooding her nose, seeing Grayson passed out on the ratty old couch. Apparently, a couple of drinks at the bar wasn’t enough.

Goddamnit, Grayson.

Looking to sober him up, Beatrice walked into the open kitchen and started a pot of coffee. She opened the fridge and grabbed some bacon, putting it on a plate and microwaving it. While that was going, she made an attempt to wake him up. Walking over to the ratty, old couch, she lightly shook Grayson’s shoulder.

“Grayson, wake up…” She whispered in a calm tone. He mumbled something she couldn’t understand and flipped over on his side, turning his back on her. The blankets on top of him had wrapped around him partially, making him look like a mummy. A very drunk mummy.

“Come on, Grayson, get up. You promised you would come with me to the theater. Now get your ass up and I’ll get you sober.”

Finally, he rose from the couch like he was rising from the grave. He turned to look at Beatrice with a blank expression, his eyes still glazed and spacey.

“Holy hell, what time is it…” Grayson mumbled, letting out a small groan. He swept the hair out of his eyes and gripped his forehead. A headache, probably. _Definitely_.

“It’s 10:40-ish, not that late. How drunk did you get last night?” Beatrice asked.

“Huh?”

“How drunk?” She asked again, more firm and serious.

“... Maybe a little more than expected.”

“Though so.”

Then, like it was on cue, the microwave beeped, announcing its finish. Beatrice let out a sigh of relief.

“Finally, let’s get you some resemblance of a breakfast.”

Of course, Grayson was still too tired and too hungover to get up or even acknowledge what was going on. Beatrice didn’t mind, she always knew how to handle it. She took the plate of bacon out of the microwave.

Grayson saw Beatrice enter the living room with the bacon, and he frowned. He was finally starting to realize that she wanted him sober for something. She handed him the plate, and he dug in anyway, knowing it was something to feed himself, but eating extremely slow and awkward.

“Hot,” He murmured.

“I know.”

After a couple minutes of silence, the loud, obnoxious beeping of the coffee maker ended it. Beatrice walked back into the kitchen and grabbed a cup out of the cabinet. She poured some coffee and added the slightest bit of sugar, that’s how he always liked it. When she stared at for a few more seconds, she grabbed and poured her own cup. Now that she thought about it, a bit of coffee for herself wouldn’t hurt. She carried the two cups back over and presented one to Grayson. “Drink up, this’ll help.”

Grayson, looking up from his bacon (not even half finished), grabbed the mug and forgot about the bacon for a small moment, sipping the coffee immediately and apparently forgetting that the coffee was burning his tongue.

They let the conversation be sparse for a while, letting Grayson finish his breakfast while Beatrice finished her coffee and packed her bag. It was going to be a long day.  
_________

The door clicked behind them as they drifted lazily down the hall, Grayson trying to move as fast as he could. Beatrice stared at the geometric patterns embedded in the shaggy carpet. The ride down the elevator provided no words to spare.

It was just big enough to be an apartment lobby. Only one entrance to the stairs and only one elevator in working order and the wallpaper was peeling more here than the hallways. The owner hadn’t been present for the last couple of days, so a lot happened while he was gone. Beatrice and Grayson had tried to stay out of everyone’s business, but you can’t really stay out of it when you _hear_ it two doors down.

When they got to the car, Grayson asked, “Why the theater, exactly? Isn’t that, like, abandoned and shit?”

“I just wanted to check it out for a project I’m doing. Not that big of a deal.”

“You know, breaking in there would be a crime. It’s gonna get demolished in like a week, it’s so run down-”

Beatrice could barely believe his words, holding back a laugh. “Since when have _you_ ever given a shit about the law?”

“... Good point. You win.”

He unlocked the car and they both got in. Beatrice decided that she should drive, it was for the best.

“Hey, Bea? Did I even agree to this?” Grayson questioned.

Beatrice resisted the urge to smile. It was a bit cruel, but she took advantage of when he was drunk. She could tell him that he agreed to do _anything_ and he would believe it to be true. Of course, she didn’t use that privilege often. Ok, maybe she _did_ , but if he wants to stop getting dragged around to all of her adventures, then he would have to cut back the alcohol.

“Well, yeah. You agreed to come with me last night. I remember you saying yes.” Beatrice answered in the smoothest tone she could manage. Grayson’s expression slowly became more and more bewildered, and it was fucking hilarious.

“Uh… Ok then. I mean, we’ll be out of there in, like, 10 minutes, right?” He asked warily.

Beatrice nodded. “Of course.”

Thus began the investigation of a lifetime.  
_________

The theater was _super_ old. It was built around the mid-1900’s, back when the city wasn’t even a city yet. It was far beyond repair and was probably going to become a huge apartment complex once it got torn down. Still, it was magnificent architecture. Sturdy structure, tall marble arches, and it looked more like a palace than a place to watch movies. Everything looked like a palace back then.

Beatrice parked the car in the parking lot nearby and grabbed her backpack, getting out of the car, Grayson following her lead. She locked the car and they both headed on their way down the block. The weather wasn’t very forgiving today, which didn’t help, and the wind was being really bitchy, biting at their senses and turning their faces red (Good thing Beatrice reminded Grayson to wear a jacket, even though he refused at first). Conversation didn’t really want to pop up right now. It usually didn’t between them. They shared a lot of bittersweet silent moments.

“Hey Beatrice, are you sure you wanna snoop around in here? This place is HUGE…”

“Trust me, it’s going to help me out a lot.”

Apparently, Beatrice didn’t make her voice sound casual enough, because Grayson raised an eyebrow. Either she made her actual influence too clear, or he was finally sober enough to be sensorially aware again.

“... Are you ok, Bea?”

The words made Beatrice tense up a little. Shit, he was starting to get on her case.

“I’m… I’m fine, Gray.”

“Listen to me. You’re not okay. I can feel it. Whatever is going on, you can tell me. I… I know that I’m probably still a bit drunk and shit, but you have to trust me with your feelings. We’ve lived together for almost 4 years. Just because you pick up on my feelings doesn’t mean I don’t pick up on yours, too,” Grayson assured, gently putting his arm around her. His hand was freezing against her shoulder, and Beatrice shivered a little bit.

Beatrice looked at the ground while they kept walking, Grayson’s arm still around her. She smiled, but the smile faded away when she realized what she had to say to him. He probably wasn’t going to believe her.

_You must not tell anyone else, swear on it._

“Hey, Grayson?”

“Yeah?”

“I… need to tell you something.”

_I know you’ll probably break my promise_

“I want to tell you the real reason why we’re exploring this place. It’s a bit… odd. But can you please believe me?”

“Well, to be honest, Bea, I knew that there was some other reason you wanted to be here. Just tell me. I’ll listen.”

_but I hope you make the right choice_

“I was walking around in the woods yesterday and I found this envelope stuck in a bush. I… I think you should read it,” Beatrice’s voice was becoming more hoarse and it was hard to breathe. She knew that she shouldn’t do this.

_keep unsolved murders to yourself._

She shook her head in denial. No, this was okay. She trusted Grayson, even if this was serious, even _dangerous_ information. She couldn’t do this alone, she couldn’t keep all of this inside to herself. It wasn’t healthy. Beatrice moved away from Grayson’s arm and swung her backpack to her chest to search for the letter. It was now or never, and she chose now. Swinging her bag around to one shoulder, she handed the letter to him, her hand shaking from the cold and the tension. Grayson took the letter and opened the envelope. He read the letter with a blank expression, which wasn’t helping Beatrice’s anxiety.

Without a word, he folded the letter back up, put it in the envelope, and pressed it into her hand, closing her fingers around it. She looked at him confused, but at the same time, hopeful. Hopeful that he would say something to her.

“Look, we’re here,” Was all that he said, stopping to stand in front of the huge, looming building. The theater.  
_________

Finding the theater was the easy part. Getting inside was harder. They both had found a way in around the back, through a small alley off to the side and through an open window. A large trash can substituted as a ladder.

Climbing inside, they both found themselves on a balcony, overlooking one of the rooms. There were over 300 velvet seats, all enclosing around one, huge screen mounted above a stage. Red curtains flanked around each of the sides, and a huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The floors were polished marble and there were marble columns on either side of the stage. Intricate designs covered the ceilings and walls. There was a small pit up front for the orchestra to play music. They both stared at it in awe. People went _here_ to watch films?

“Man, these things were like palaces,” Grayson muttered, taking it all in. Beatrice gave a lazy nod to agree. For a while, they almost forgot why they were here, this place seemed to draw them in with some unknown force. It was almost surreal. Eventually, Beatrice snapped out of it and helped Grayson snap out of it too. They needed to get back on track since Grayson now knew why they were _actually_ here.

“So, look for anything… I don’t know, out of the ordinary?”

“Bea, this entire place is out of the ordinary. But now, it’s a week from its destruction and I’m breaking inside with my roommate, on a quest to solve _murder_ slightly drunk.”

“Quest?”

“I would say so.”

Beatrice started walking around the balcony, searching for anything that might be tied to the clue. Except for the decaying of the building, there wasn’t anything else. Grayson went the opposite direction.

“Hey, uh, I think I might have an idea,” Grayson proposed, turning back around to face Beatrice. He pointed towards the huge projector against the back wall, and she nodded. Why didn’t she think of that before? She was the sober one after all.

They both walked to the back and checked out the projector. Nothing seriously weird or superstitious, just really dusty and out of date. Meanwhile, Grayson was trying to find the power.

“You think it’s actually going to turn on after all these years?”

“I’m taking a chance,” Grayson answered, finding out that the huge crank on the side probably had something to do with the power. He took it with both hands and gave it a strong turn. Nothing. He grumbled some curses and flipped it again. It worked on its third try.

The huge silver screen burst to life, flooding the dark theater with light. They both jumped simultaneously by the sudden brightness, blinded by it for a brief moment before their eyes adjusted to it, followed by a hushed “Keep spinning it, Gray!” from Beatrice. They were surprised it had even turned on at all. But, they took that for granted as they stared at the screen, bug-eyed.

There was a man on the screen, wearing a bowler hat and a vest over a dress shirt. He seemed to be wearing a fairly large mustache that looked fake. He was making wild expressions with his arms and his face like he was trying to communicate with them in a very theatrical tone. Beatrice’s eyes lit up.

“It’s a silent film! And that face… it looks familiar…”

“He looks like a knock-off Charlie Chaplin,” Grayson muttered, shifting his weight while he kept turning the crank.

“Shhh, look!”

A cue-card came up on the screen like you usually see in those old movies.

_“Oh golly! I didn’t see you there!”_

The man kept miming.

_“Now, you might be wondering why this film was left here. Well, everything has a meaning here, a thought you must keep in mind.”_

They were both dead quiet as they kept staring at the black and white man, the grinding of the crank and the whirring of the ancient machine as the only noise in the entire palace.

_“The clue you are seeking is in this theater, but not in any of the seats…”_

He mimed looking behind and under his chair.

_“Or up in the lofts…”_

He stared above him, then shook his head, waving his finger dramatically.

_“The clue you seek hides inside where the stories are kept.”_

A devious grin appeared on the man’s face, like he wanted to tell them something really important, but couldn’t. It irked them a little bit, and the air got colder and more distant. But just like that, the film ended, and they were left in a veil of darkness, staring at the blank screen. Beatrice blinked a few times to adjust to the lack of light and looked at Grayson, taking his shaky hands off of the crank, dumbfounded. Clearly, she had no clue what the hell he meant. Grayson really didn’t have a good explanation either, but they would fix that later. Hopefully.

“So… like, what the fuck?” Beatrice took a long-needed breath and collected her thoughts. Grayson shoved his hands into his pockets. He always did that when he was nervous.

“Well, think about it. Where _are_ stories kept in a movie theater?”

Beatrice wondered for a moment. “If he’s talking about where they’re _kept_ instead of where they’re _made,_ then…” Her eyes drifted over to the projector. Grayson did the same.

“... Are you thinking what I’m thinking, or are you still drunk?”

“Trust me, Bea, I think I’m sober enough to understand the pressures of the situation. So yes, I’m thinking what you’re thinking, and we’re taking that film and getting the fuck out of here before we’re in need of a serious tetanus shot.”  
_________

Taking the film reel and placing it (carefully) in the side pocket of Beatrice’s backpack, they both headed out of the theater, leaving the palace behind in all of its run-down glory. Hopping out of the window and back onto the ground, they traveled out of the alley once again out into the streets.

Beatrice felt a weird feeling in the back of her mind. She looked at Grayson with concern and curiosity, considering what question to ask.

“So, I guess you’re okay with this, then. Just like that.”

Grayson didn’t even glance at her, he just stared straight ahead. Beatrice’s worries didn’t fade away, they multiplied. Why the fuck did he _always_ do this? No response, no acknowledgment of the situation. She sometimes wondered why he got this shitty, why did he have to just-

“Beatrice, I’m just worried about this. I mean, you just picked up this letter in the woods, and you just decide to become the next Buzzfeed Unsolved? Jesus, Bea, I don’t know what to say at this point. Sure, I’m curious about this, but we’re young. We should be at parties or getting into really stupid short-term relationships or some bullshit like that. I don’t want to spend my 20s possibly in danger of death, ok?” The words came out so fast that Grayson didn’t even remember to properly breathe. Beatrice stared at him wide-eyed, trying to play back everything that just came out of his mouth. She felt a sudden wave of shame all of a sudden, and she found herself thinking that this whole thing was her fault.

The cold air had backed off by then, and the rest of the walk was silent. Completely silent. It was probably better that way because both of them didn’t have anything important or worthwhile to talk about.

“... Are you sure you want to do this?” Beatrice asked.

Grayson let out a sigh, his hands shaking from the cold.

“Look, to be honest, I know that I was drunk when I agreed to this, but I guess a promise is a promise. I’ll help you. We’ll figure this out. _Together._ I mean it. No going off on your own, no going into the woods at night-”

“Ok ok, I get it, mom. I’ll be home by 6:30 for dinner~” Beatrice joked, sticking out her tongue and giving him a mocking glare. He punched her shoulder playfully.

“Come on, Bea. let’s hurry up. It’s getting super cold and I don’t want to become an ice block before we get back to the apartment.”  
_________

The rest of the afternoon was peaceful. No alcohol was taken out, thank god, and they both sat on the couch watching cheesy horror flicks from the 80s.

Long after Grayson had passed out on that very same couch, Beatrice received a text message. Curious (and still awake), she read it.

It was an unknown number with no profile. It wasn’t very long, but after a short skim through it, she had to look back over 2 more times to assure herself that what she was reading was real.

  


_I advise that you stop what you’re doing right now. They’re already dead. You shouldn’t mess with murder, kid. It’s dangerous to take this into your own hands._

_Don’t believe his lies._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm uploading these so fast because I've already written a lot, haha. But if I made any grammatical errors feel free to point them out in the comments, I'm always open for feedback and stuff of the sort. This is the first time really trying out AO3 and what cool perks it's got compared to Quotev (which I used a lot before moving here). Nothing fancy, but I super duper like the organization of AO3 so far (just my opinion). Buuuut, if you liked it, do the things; kudo, comment, and conspire!


	3. Library

 

Because both of them were sober, the morning consisted of a nice conversation with coffee. Beatrice didn’t want to think about the mysterious text message she received last night, and she didn’t really know where to _start_ thinking about it. Instead, she focused on the task at hand.

“Want to continue where we left off yesterday?”

“Well yeah, Bea. I agreed, didn’t I? If we started this, we’re going to see its finish.” Grayson set the mug down, staring at it.

“Y-yeah… stupid question.”

“Never stupid.” Grayson smiled warmly and held the mug in his hands again.

Beatrice pulled her backpack up to the leg of her chair and grabbed the film reel in the side pocket, slowly uncoiling it and laying it flat on the table as best as she could. Nothing _really_ happened, but she tried to make it at least readable.

“This film is about, oh, maybe 35mm. God, it’s so crinkly. How was it able to survive this long? We almost cracked it trying to take it out of the projector.”

Grayson gave a small shrug. “Don’t know. The chemicals in the film must’ve gone sour at some point. The temperature in that theater is super dry and cold. Do you think the film can survive that long? How old even _is_ this film, anyway?”

Beatrice just sighed again and took another look at the reel. “Wait, hold on…”

“What? Did you find something?” Grayson sat up and scooted in his chair, back into investigation mode. They were both staring at the film with intent and curiosity. Beatrice’s face lit up with an idea.

“Hey look, do you see those weird faded dots in some of the frames? Odd… they look like they were written in there… and those lines... “ Beatrice grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from her bag and looked at the film reel frame by frame. Each time she saw a faded line or dot, she wrote it out. It was pretty difficult because of the film’s age, she saw a lot of red herrings. Still, slowly but surely, she had reached the end of the reel, setting the pen down and passing the paper to Grayson. Taking it, he read it over, nodding to himself as if to agree.

_\- .... . -.-- / .- .-.. .-.. / -.- -. . .-- / - .... . / -. .- -- . / -... ..- - / - .... . -.-- / .- .-.. .-.. / ..-. --- .-. --. --- - / ... --- --- -. / . -. --- ..- --. .... .-.-.- / - .... . / -. .- -- . / -.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . / ... . .- .-. -.-. .... .. -. --. / ..-. --- .-. / .. ... / --- -.-. - --- -... . .-. / ...-- .---- ... - / .---- ----. ..--- .---- / - .... . / -.. .- .. .-.. -.-- / .--. . .-. ..-. --- .-. -- .- -. -.-. ._

“Seems like morse. At least, that’s what you wrote here.”

“It _is_ morse code, Gray, don’t you get it? It’s getting more and more cryptic now. Who knows what kind of bullshit this investigation is gonna pull. We might be translating atbash or steganography in the future.”

Grayson blinked a few times. “E-Excuse me, what did you just say?”

“Atbash and steganography. Code shit. I used to do a lot of ARGs.”

“How convenient,” Grayson snarked, crossing his arms. He looked at the film, then the pad of paper. He shook his head. “I still don’t get who’s trying to talk with us. Who _is_ this guy?”

“Someone that didn’t want to die, but unfortunately did.”

“In the woods?”

“That’s what the letter said.”

Grayson nodded, then pulled out his phone, bring up a browser and typing something in.

“Well, I was thinking maybe we could pull up a translator-”

“Already a step ahead of ya.” Grayson pulled the notepad closer to him as he typed in the dashes and dots. When he finished typing, he stared at his screen for a very long time, a very strange feeling residing in the pit of his stomach. Taking the pen, he quickly scribbled down words on the paper, glancing at his phone every once in a while to read the words. He then clicked the pen and slid the notepad across the table, Beatrice bringing it close enough to read.

**THEY ALL KNEW THE NAME BUT THEY ALL FORGOT SOON ENOUGH. THE NAME YOU ARE SEARCHING FOR IS NOVEMBER 1ST 1921 THE DAILY PERFORMANCE**

“... Ok. I’m lost. I haven’t got even a whim of an idea that could make sense of this.”

Grayson sighed and gave her a very not-needed eyeroll. “Well, you heard it from Little Miss ARG right here folks, she surrenders.” After a few seconds, he leaned over hastily. “I haven’t gotten any clue either. Did you think of anything yet?”

It was Beatrice who rolled her eyes next, taking her coffee cup and taking a _gulp_ without realizing it. She leaned back in her chair and thought for a quiet moment. Grayson let her think.

“The Daily Performance… Sounds like that old theatre newspaper that got discontinued in the 60s. Or maybe rebranded. Either of those two, I can’t remember.” Beatrice lowered her chair even and looked at the words again, then gave a confident nod. “Yep, that’s the one I’m thinking of. And if we’re lucky, I know just where to find what we’re looking for…”

“How the _fuck_ do you know all of this?”

“Theatre degree, remember?”

“Man, Bea, you keep pulling convenient things out of your ass this morning, what’s up with that?”

She chuckled. “I’m the woman of a thousand wonders.” In return for his snide remark, she threw the pen at him, smiling. He smiled back.  
_________

They both finished their coffee not long after and decided to relax for a little while before taking off. Beatrice almost dozed off watching Netflix Originals (she didn’t get much sleep the night prior because of the rushing questions in her brain, go figure), and Grayson had to wake her up multiple times. She missed all the good parts. Damn.

Grabbing her backpack and stuffing a few granola bars in there, she put on her jacket and put both backpack straps on, holding them and making her elbows jut out. She looked like a kindergartener ready for her first day of school.

“Doesn’t help that you’re so short. I’d mistake you for a kindergartener if I were to be honest,” Grayson remarked as he pulled his arm through the left sleeve of his jacket, then the other arm through the right. He wandered up next to her, his hands in his pockets and smiling that _“Hah, I got you bitch”_ smile. Beatrice groaned. “Shut up!”

“What? It’s true and you’re denying it. C’mon, let’s get to the car already.”

A click and they were once again walking down the plain, ordinary hallway. Beatrice was staring at the geometric carpet again, her eyes following all of the zigzags and sharp corners. Grayson, meanwhile, stared at the swirls in the ceiling above. He felt his stomach ache for a very odd reason, but he tried to keep it down as they kept walking, the floor creaking under their feet. It was another long, quiet, awkward ride down, and Grayson seemed to have drifted closer to Beatrice as they walked into the lobby.

To their surprise, the owner was sitting in his office, his chair leaned back so he could put his feet on the desk, and a magazine covering his face. They both walked right past him without saying a word, hurrying out of the door and to the car. As soon as they both got in, Beatrice turned to Grayson.

“Ready to head to the library?” Beatrice asked as she started the car and headed off, barely giving time for Grayson to buckle his seatbelt. From her impatience, she seemed extremely excited about this. Grayson, however, was still trying to recover from that slight nausea.

Maybe it’ll be better by the time they reach the library. Hopefully.

Maybe not.  
_________

The library wasn’t very crowded today because most people were at the football game downtown, so it was nice and quiet for investigation. Beatrice went to the front desk to ask where to find the newspaper archive, and the woman pointed to a room in the far corner, separate of the main library, full of bookcases with blue binders on its shelves. Thanking her, Beatrice headed over to the archive, Grayson following behind.

The archive had the local newspapers dating back 100 years. Some of the binders even had The New York Times and The Washington Post, but only the sections about their city in particular. Beatrice wasn’t interested in that. Instead, she reached into her backpack and pulled out the notepad with their deciphers on it. Reading it, she ran her finger across the spines of the binders, looking at each one of them with a focused glare. Grayson now felt like a sitting duck, not knowing what to do. Then, nausea came back again, gripping at his stomach and clawing it. He hunched over, keeping back a groan. Beatrice whipped around to investigate, and she immediately helped him stand straight.

“Oh shit… dude, are you alright? A- are you gonna throw up?”

Grayson wanted to nod, but he just broke from Beatrice’s grasp and rushed to the bathroom. He felt bad for suddenly abandoning her, but if he had stayed, he would’ve probably thrown up all over the carpet.

The bathroom was empty, so Grayson didn’t have a problem with privacy. Gripping the edge of the sink, he stared into the mirror, seeing his reflection looking back at him. Something felt off. He knew it. But what…

Suddenly, he heard the door behind him open as someone entered the bathroom. He stopped looking like a maniac and stood up straight, coughing awkwardly and staring in the mirror for a few more seconds, then rushed out of the bathroom, his face a bit red and his stomach not yet recovered. Walking across the library, reaching the room and heading inside, he looked up to see Beatrice on the other side. Seeing her face made him reassured and a bit less tense. Good.

Staring at the binders for a while in a daze, he felt the gentle tug of his jacket sleeve getting pulled and turned to face Beatrice. “Yeah?”

“Hey, so, uh….”

“What happened?”

“I found something in this one binder… Do they even know…?”

Beatrice turned the binder to face Grayson, and he took it in his own hands, reading it through.

**THE DAILY PERFORMANCE; NOVEMBER 1ST, 1921**

**THE TRAGEDY OF THE SILENT SILVER SCREEN STAR**

_Today marks one of the most tragic moments in silent film history. Local silent film star, Jameson Jackson, was murdered at approximately 11:35 PM last night, his body found in the center of the woods and his throat slit open. Authorities have no clue who this mysterious killer was, and are still searching for evidence to solve the crime. Still, this tragedy will not be washed away so soon. A funeral will be held this weekend at the park and a memorial will follow afterward. We hope you will all attend this gathering to respect a famous member of our community and the history of silent film._

Grayson stared at the words a little while longer, his eyes shifting to the photo beside the text. It showed a man, much like the one they saw on the screen back at the theater, with a pumpkin on the table in front of him. An innocent grin was stuck on his face, and he was holding a small carving knife in one hand. Grayson got the strangest sense of deja vu. He handed the binder back to Beatrice and shrugged, and he heard her mutter the words “Jameson Jackson”, more to herself than him.

“Welp, I guess he just got himself killed. Case closed. That’s it.”

“No no no no, that’s not _it_. Don’t you want to know who killed him? Because something tells me that this isn’t your typical murder…”

“Typical? Bea, _murder_ isn’t typical.”

“Yeah yeah, I know.”

Grayson shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to think. Who WOULD murder this guy? A lot of it didn’t make any sense…

“Well, should we take it home? It might give us time to explore some more-”

“Wait,” Beatrice commanded as she flipped through the pages again, her eyes squinting intently. Finally, she stopped on a page and turned around to show Grayson.

“Here, there’s another article that should be useful.”

**THE DAILY PERFORMANCE; JUNE 15TH, 1919**

**LOCAL SILENT FILM STAR SWEEPS THE LOCALS OFF THEIR FEET**

_Many have been talking about the new silent film star on the rise, a locally bred chap by the name of Jameson Jackson. No one knows where all of his talent was retrieved from, but he’s already captivating the minds and hearts of all audiences. Last week, he had the honor of starring in one of the most awaited films of the year, and he’s already getting critical acclaim. No one knows where this young man is headed, but the only logical direction at this point… is up!_

“So odd how I had forgotten that name… he was a pretty revolutionary guy for his time, we must’ve talked about him at some point during the class… maybe I dozed off.”

Grayson, meanwhile, was listening to Beatrice ramble on, not knowing if he should respond to her or just listen. Apparently, she knew this, and stopped abruptly, looking up.

“Oh shit, uh… sorry about that. I was just talking to myself.” She stifled out a laugh and smiled. Grayson couldn’t help but smile too. It was the least he could do.

“So… can we take this home?”

Beatrice shook her head. “Nah, I don’t think they would allow it. But, we could take notes or pictures. I have the notepad right here in my backpack that we could write on, and we’ve got the whole library to ourselves, so…”

Grayson shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

They found a table near the back of the archives and snagged it before anyone else. For a brief moment, they could finally get some actual thinking time. Spreading out their notes and evidence, they started reading and jotting the important parts down.

“Hey, uh, Gray? I think I just stumbled across something important…”

“Huh? Lemme see.”

Beatrice turned the binder to face Grayson, and he took it in his hands to read it. He couldn’t help but see her smug-ass face looking at him while he was reading, and he looked up at her with a confused and suspicious look. In return, she gave him a smirk, just to piss him off.

“C’mon, you act like you know the secrets to everything.”

“Maybe I do, but you just don’t know it yet. Maybe I’m an immortal god that sees all and that knows who the murderer is.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“You highly doubt everything, party pooper! Now, back to the bidness…”

“Fine, fine,” Grayson growled, setting the binder down and forgetting about reading the rest.

Beatrice took the pencil in her grip and scribbled a few more notes down on the notepad, then nodded to herself. Grayson didn’t have the first clue as to what she was doing, but he wasn’t even going to take the first guess at it. Once you got Beatrice hooked onto something, she was off. No going back now. For Grayson, however, that was a very tempting blessing in disguise.

He leaned over to see what she was working on, actually intrigued himself. She noticed his snooping, and glanced up at him, turning the notepad more in his direction so that he could peer down at her notes. One phrase, in particular, caught his eye.

_3467 Rosemary Ave._

He stared at Beatrice, confused. She shook her head and ushered him so sit back down in his seat. Taking her request, he did, folding his arms and holding them close to his chest. His face was so unreadable it was stupid. She sighed.

“I found this address in one of the articles. Don’t know why he would put his address out there in plain sight, though.”

“Maybe he just wanted _everyone_ to know where the _infamous_ Jameson Jackson lived, so that _everyone_ could see how _expensive_ and _great_ his house was.” Grayson delivered all of this in an obnoxiously overdramatic tone, making Beatrice want to sock him square in the jaw. Instead, she gave him a playful shove. Grayson made a big deal of rubbing his arm and fake crying like a whining child, but she ignored him and kept reading. Eventually, she gave a firm nod and closed the binder, letting out a deep breath. Reaching for her backpack, she unzipped it and stuffed the notepad back in, along with her pens and other junk. When she zipped it back up, she got interrupted by a sudden question from Grayson.

“So, I guess we’re going to some dead guy’s house, then?” Grayson asked, stretching his legs out under the table and pulling out his phone to check the time. How the hell was it still not even noon yet? God, this was going to be a long day.

“Well, I guess that’s what we’re doing if we want to find out why the hell someone is murdering all these people,” She stated as she started walking to the bookshelves to put the binder back.

“Yeah… yeah…”

He saw her stop for a moment. Even when he couldn’t see her face, he knew that she had a smile stuck on her face. “What, you scared?” Beatrice asked.

“Oh, don’t pull that bullshit question on me. You know for a fact that I am _not_ a wimp.”

“Your mother would say otherwise.”

“Says you!"

“Says your mother!” Beatrice exclaimed, finishing her trip back over to the bookshelves and putting the binder back in its correct place. Although the insult was childish, it was indeed more effective when it came to Grayson. Walking back to their table, she could _hear_ his eyes rolling into the back of his head as she picked her backpack up and swung it around her shoulders.

“Alright, alright, let’s go already.”  
_________

On the way to their next break-in, Grayson forced Beatrice to stop the car for some coffee, so they parked the car and walked into the nearest coffee shop along the street. They had never even seen it before, but it seemed popular with tons of college students. Seeing all of them reminded Beatrice that she didn’t get out of college that long ago, and the same went for Grayson. Knowing this made her feel like a grownup still thinking that she was allowed at the kids table.

They got their drinks (with Beatrice making 100% sure Grayson ordered something WITHOUT any alcohol content whatsoever) and picked a table for two in the corner of the shop. Immediately after they sat down, Beatrice unzipped her bag and pulled out the notepad and a pen already focused on reading and rereading her notes. At this point, there was no stopping her now.

It went eerily quiet for a very long time. Beatrice had almost blazed through her cup of coffee when Grayson spotted something.

Out of the corner of his eye, Grayson spotted a man off to his left, sitting alone with his own cup of coffee. The man looked too old to be a college student and looked even older than them. Grayson felt strangely sorry for him though because he looked so out of place among the others it was painful. Knowing this, he turned back to Beatrice, pulling on the sleeve of her jacket to get her attention. She looked up, giving him a glance of confusion. He pointed off to his left, towards the man he had just seen.

But, when Beatrice looked, and looked back at him even more confused, he saw that the man had completely vanished. Not even his cup remained.

“But… but I saw him, how could he-”

“Come on, Gray. You must’ve imagined it.”

“Maybe not.”

“Well,” Beatrice raised an eyebrow, suspicious, “What did he look like?”

“He had dark brown hair, cut really short and buzzed on the sides. Looked worryingly pale, though, and thin.”

“Seems foreign to me. I don’t know anyone like that, much less a man who appears to appears to have the physics of a ghost.” Beatrice sipped the last of her coffee. “You… sure he was real?”

The more Grayson thought about it, the more he couldn’t answer her question. In the end, he gave with a single defeated shrug, giving a smug look. Beatrice laughed at his expression and grabbed her backpack to stuff the notepad and pen back in, rising up from her chair and putting it on.

“You ready to break into another establishment?”

“Jeez, you make it sound so sophisticated. In case you didn’t realize, I still think that you and this ‘murder investigation’ are full of crap.”

“Says the one who claimed he saw a man that wasn’t really there.”

“Hey, he was real! And _not_ a ghost, mind you! I’m not crazy!”

Beatrice gave a hastily low grumble along the lines of “Mhm, yeah, right,” then proceeded to walk out of the coffee shop, Grayson following right behind her.

Still, he couldn’t help but crane his neck around, scanning the entire place one more time to see if there was any trance that the man did, in fact, exist in the coffee shop at the same moment he did. To his frustration, there was nothing, so he brushed the thought off, letting it lurk in the very back corner of his mind as he walked out the door.

The drive served to be a boring process. Multiple times, Beatrice had gotten them lost, but eventually managed to find the address she had found in the article. Approaching it, she remarked at how small it was compared to the other houses, and how it was tucked way back at the corner. Seeing that there were no cars parked in the driveway, she took the opportunity to park in it. Stepping out of the car, they took a moment to just stop and give the house a good, long look.

It _was_ small, for starters, looking more like a medium-sized cottage than a full-sized house. The brick walls were painted a dusty tan color, clearly faded and chipped through time, with vines crawling their way up its corners and faces. There were eggshell white borders outlining the windows, and curtains, a deep red color, could be seen through them. At the front door, there lay a doormat. All of this strange and magical mess, placed under a dark gray shingled roof. The whole ambiance of it looked like it was ripped straight out of a fantasy novel.

“Seems so… quaint. For a guy as rich and famous as he was, I thought his house would be, like, a mansion or something,” Grayson muttered half-heartedly. Beatrice only gave a slight nod in return.

A beat of silence was broken by her words. “Well, let’s stop talking and head inside, then. Lots to discover.”

They both wandered up to the front door, staring at its structure for a moment. When Beatrice grabbed the brass doorknob and turned it, she expected it to be locked. Of course, she was correct. Beatrice frowned, then had the idea of stepping back to observe the doormat they were standing on. Squatting down, she lifted up one of the corners, pulling it back to reveal that there was a key underneath it. Surprised by her success, she picked it up, set the mat back down, and slid the key into the lock, still thinking that there was a bit more complexity to it than just a key under a doormat.

When it actually _opened_ the door, she felt a little more concerned that she should’ve been prior to this endeavor.

Grayson took her look of bewilderment as an excuse to slip in a joke. “So, the demons must _really_ want us in this house then, huh? Maybe the murderer’s gonna be waiting for us, and we’ll become like those really cheesy horror movie victims.”

“Gray, please, shut that bloody mouth of yours right this instant.”

“Oho, gettin’ a little feisty there, miss. I would advise you to watch your mouth, or I might leave you behind when the murderer starts chasing us,” Grayson responded with a sly smile.

“Can we just… skip the scare tactics and head games and get into this damn house already?”

“Jeez, alright. Let’s.” Taking full advantage of his victory, he strode into the house, his head held high and whistling an upbeat tune.

 _God, he’s unbearable sometimes._ Beatrice thought, shaking her head and knitting her eyebrows.

She took a deep breath, stuffing all of her worries and speculations into the far reaches of her mind where she couldn’t grab them. The musty air from inside was already grabbing at her throat and making her have the urge to cough.

Abandoning all rational thoughts and previously perceived logic, she stepped into the house, shutting the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I'm caught and up to date with this story on all platforms! Now just to write, haha...  
> Anyway, hope this (kinda) wraps up JJ's section of the story. I hate the fact that it's so short, but the truth is, he doesn't really have a lot about his character, so I kind of have to fill in the big gaps with my own imagination and interpretations of the character myself, oops. I promise it'll get easier and more lengthy the more the story evolves. But for now, if you enjoyed it, do the things; kudo, comment, and conspire! I'll see you soon!


	4. Explorers

The moment Beatrice had stepped into the house, she just stared at the interior for a while, taking it all in. The outside may have looked quaint, but the inside sure as hell wasn’t. Lavish paintings lined the dark walls, with a staircase right at the entrance, probably leading up to an attic of some sort, and a long hallway next to it. It expanded into three different rooms, all branching out in different directions.

Taking the largest one first, Beatrice headed into the living room to look around, not knowing (or caring) where Grayson was at the moment. Surprisingly, the living room seemed to be the most ornate part of the house by far, with more paintings and elegant light fixtures on the walls, but dust covering every surface of the area. It was so musty, it was hard not to sneeze her brains out.

The windows she saw when she looked at the house from the front seemed even more intricate close-up. When she walked up and looked closer, she saw that the deep red curtains had complicated patterns stitched in all along the surface. Silky smooth to the touch.

One thing’s for sure, this guy had way too much fucking money.

Leaving the curtains behind, she glanced around the walls and spotted a bookcase embedded into its surface. Books of all colors and thicknesses lined the bookshelves, probably all antiques of the past. Still, they looked fascinating, but she wasn’t here to sit down and read. There wasn’t enough time for that.

Leaving the living room behind, she headed into the one right across from it. The kitchen didn’t seem to scream “clue hiding place”, but she took a look around just for her own completionist instinct. Still, it was as fancy as the living room. Marble countertops, wood floors, everything seeming so orderly and pristine. The dust had followed through with the rest of the house, covering and clinging on to all the surfaces. Beatrice had the urge to sneeze again.

Still, with nothing worthwhile to see, she turned on her heels to walk out the door.

Entering the main connecting room, Beatrice stopped for a while and stared at the ceiling. She heard movement like the creaking of floorboards above her head and shivered. Was it Grayson? She didn’t know, but she hoped that her gut feeling was right. She turned to walk down the hallway, the creaking following her like a lost puppy. She stopped. The creaking stopped. She walked backward, and it followed her.

“If you want to be a creep, then come down and face me!” Beatrice yelled at the ceiling, standing her ground as the footsteps follow her commands, listening to them loop around and come down the stairs to her right. She turned, facing the stairs and bracing herself.

But it was just Grayson. Smiling.

“Hey, honestly, I wasn’t going to do that, but it would be fun if I messed around with you a bit.” He shrugged. “Didn’t hurt, right?”

Beatrice fought the urge to yelp out in surprise and forced it down with a groan. “You absolute ASSHAT!”

“A-alright, alright. I won’t do it again. Just thought it was funny, okay?”

“How in the ever-loving _fuck_ did you think that was funny? You almost scared me to death, you jerk!” Beatrice huffed, crossing her arms and giving him her signature “I’m going to kick your ass later and you can’t do a damn thing about it” glare.

Although the situation didn’t call for it, Grayson stifled out a laugh that could only mean that the argument blew over between them. It was strangely relieving to hear his laugh, then. Beatrice couldn’t help but laugh too after the beat of silence they shared, and she just shook her head as her heels spun her around to face the bottom of the stairs. “C’mon, Gray, let’s move on.”

The hallway served to be the closest area next, so they both turned to explore it. Despite the rest of the house, the hallway was very narrow and didn’t prove much mobility between walking into the few rooms scattered on the sides. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, and an office at the end of the walls. With no desire to visit the bathroom and no reason to visit the bedroom, the office served to be the best course of action.

The office space wasn’t all that organized, which seemed out of place with the rest of the house. Dust in this room was almost twice as thick, as there were papers covering almost every inch of the surface of the desk in the corner and bookshelves lining the walls, crammed with books and even more papers. The whole room seemed to give off a very displeasing aura of sepia, which made Grayson groan and Beatrice even more curious.

“I don’t know about you, but I feel something. Something in this room specifically. Do you think it’s something important?”

“Yeah sure, it’s definitely a psychic aura that perfectly describes the atmosphere of haunted happenings. There’s a ghost here, I can feel it.”

“Jesus, sarcastic much? C’mon, party pooper, let’s just get this over with. I’m getting the creeps.”

The bookshelves were actually full of history books, with the occasional fantasy book sprinkled in. What was the most interesting, though, was a whole shelf devoted to his personal diaries. Beatrice kept them in mind and wandered over to the desk, Grayson just staring at her absent-mindedly.

Papers were pushed out of the way as she dug to reach the surface of the desk, revealing another one of Jameson’s diaries open to a mostly blank page. She beckoned Grayson to come and take a look, and together they read:

 _I can’t stand this anymore. If these conditions get any worse, I might take desperate measures._  
_  
I need to go to the woods. I need them. They need me._  

_J.J._

“Interesting,” Beatrice muttered, flipping forward a page to reveal nothing. Instead of taking the time to read the rest, she closed the diary and stuck it in her backpack to save time. Walking over to the shelf with the other diaries, she took every one of them off the shelf and shoved them into her backpack, Grayson staring at her like she was currently sprouting two more heads.

“Yo, Bea, the hell are you doing? This is his private shit, why on earth would you think stealing it is a good idea?”

“Oh come on, hypocrite. I know you steal from the convenience store all the time. Don’t think i’m naive. Besides, this is some dead guy’s house. Will he care? No.” With that statement, she finished packing the books and zipped her bag back up, slinging it over her shoulders and taking once last sweeping glance around the room before running around, leaving Grayson to frantically catch up to her.

They walked up the steps, one by one, the creaking getting louder as they ascended the stairs. The only room (if you could even call it that) they found was the disproportionately small attic, the walls literally _made_ out of unopened boxes. Nothing took up much of the main floor area, and a small, round window was planted right in the middle of the southern wall. Sunlight streamed through and harshly hit both of their faces.

“Well, if you wanna find something, you better start searching,” Grayson huffed, glancing around the attic. Beatrice thought about it for a moment.

“If we wanna get through all this, we’ll have to do it together. You feel good tackling this for a while?”

“Sure, sure. Let’s sit in the dusty ass attic all day. Leave us vulnerable to the murderers and ghosts and shit. That seems like a WONDERFUL idea.”

“I cannot believe you sometimes. Besides, I don’t think there’s anyone in this house but us. We’ll be fine. Unless…” Beatrice smirked.

“Unless what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The ghost of the actor himself. He’s coming to take revenge on his killer, and he haunts this town in search for-”

“Hey Bea, stop it. It’s not funny.”

Beatrice was having way too much fun with this. “But Grayson, I thought you didn’t believe in such things. Are you, perhaps, afraid?”

Grayson gave her a hard, antagonizing scowl. “Eat shit, Beatrice Johnson.”

“Gladly,” She responded, already walking to the first pile of boxes she saw and pulling one out from the stack. Not knowing where else to go, Grayson joined her and sat down, pulling out another box.

It was silent for a while as they searched. There were so many decorations and picture frames in the first couple of piles, all of people they didn’t recognize (but occasionally, Beatrice chimed in with an “Oh! I know that actor!”) and places they’ve never been. This person was insanely well-known despite coming from their small town, and that was a thing you said on a rare occasion. Even if the most famous actor of his century came from this torn-up town, it still didn’t make up for anything.

The next box read “Work-related” on its label, and they found tons of stuff about Jameson Jackson’s theater-related business. Several photos of his colleagues and directors throughout the years, medals and awards, plus newspaper articles about the movies he starred in and reviews he had been given. Beatrice was enthralled, while Grayson was a bit skeptical.

“So what’s all this junk?” Again, insensitive as always.

“It’s not junk, Gray. Don’t you understand? This is evidence and clues! Whoever murdered him, we’re sure to find his closest friends in here, as well as some of his closest enemies…” Beatrice turned around to fully face him. “Wanna help me move this into the car when we’re done?”

Grayson tried to furiously blink away the bullshit she was spewing out of her mouth. “Wait wait wait, you’re saying that we’re just gonna _steal_ this?”

“Yep!”

“But Bea,” He groaned, “This is some old dude’s house we never even knew about until two days ago. You think it’s the best idea to just take his shit and book it?”

“Is he alive?” Beatrice asked.

“...no.”

“Does he _know_ we’re stealing his shit?”

“...no.”

“Exactly.”

Grayson stifled only an annoyed grunt before getting back to work on the boxes.

There wasn’t much to uncover after an hour or so, most of the boxes just contained living room decorations and other knick-knacks that weren’t of any use to them. There weren’t any more boxes related to Jameson’s work, so the one box was the only item worth taking.

As soon as they got the box in the trunk, Grayson was quick to get in the car and get the hell out of dodge, but Beatrice seemed to stop for a moment in mid-action. Feel the air brush against his cheeks and nose, let himself shiver and stare at the sky.

There wasn’t much to see up there. It was desperately trying to be blue, but it wasn’t doing very well, for the clouds just made it seem grayer than it used to be. The cold had gotten bitter now, nipping at her face like it wanted it gone. She couldn’t help but gaze at the front of the house again and wonder what it was like almost 100 years ago. She couldn’t get anything else then fuzzy images when he tried.

Suddenly, her daze was interrupted by a honk of the horn and a hasty “C’mon, let’s go already!” from Grayson, and she snapped back into reality and got in the passenger's seat.

They left the house without looking back.

________

Back at their apartment, Beatrice had cleared the coffee table in the living room for evidence only. While she was furiously flipping through the diaries and writing things down, Grayson kicked back and let out a huge yawn that was a little less needed then he thought it would be. He felt Beatrice’s eyes glare at him before she cleared her throat.

“If you could be so kind, I would like assistance with this research, Gray.”

“So? Half of this stuff I don’t understand in the first place, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Are you serious? We’ve got hours worth of research, and you just wanna sit around twiddling with your dick? C’mon man, be helpful.”

Grayson cringed, and Beatrice didn’t know why. It was soon washed away when he stood up and stared at her with intense eyes before turning on his heels to walk out the door.

“I’m gonna go get groceries. I’ll leave you to your investigation.”

“Hey, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’re being a real asshat right now. Seriously.” Beatrice didn't check her tone, but the edge was so sharp it could slice through anything. Grayson stopped in mid-action while his hairs stood on end. Unfortunately, the only thing that could scare him worse than spiders was her stern voice, and it wasn’t pretty.

He took a deep breath. “Look, I know I’m being an asshole right now-”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“But my point is, I really don’t feel… comfortable.”

“Comfortable? So you’re just going to bail about because you’re gonna piss your pants?”

“No, Bea. It’s because we are breaking into people’s houses and stealing their shit while solving a murder by ourselves with no professional help. Maybe that could be a reason I’m uncomfortable.” God, she was starting to get on his nerves.

“Since when have you ever given one single flying fuck about the law? So your hopping fences and illegal parties are just going to be all made up now just because I’m taking the lead? Is that it?”

“No! Hell no! Beatrice, please-”

“You know what? No. Leave. I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’ll text you when I feel alright again, this is getting stupid.”

With that final sentence, Beatrice promptly collapsed back onto the couch and left Grayson standing there, staring at the back of her head like a total imbecile, feeling a straight sense of numbness over the swelling anger he felt. They didn’t have fights like these in a long time, and what perfect time it was for it to roll around now.

Just perfect.

________

The streets were freezing. It was stupid for it to be this cold in September, and it was even tenser when he had left the apartment. The argument was stupid, of course, but he didn’t know why she was being so wrapped around the axle. Yeah, he had done some stupid shit back in their early years of college, and yes, it had almost ended their friendship, but it really shouldn’t have stuck around this long. Did she feel like she just had a right to barge in and take charge of everything? Was that it?

Yet again, when Beatrice was committed to something, prying her off of it was like prying barnacles off of a rock.

He turned a few corners and appeared near the convenience store down at the end of the street. Lucky enough, it provided enough stock for most of their groceries and most of his booze. If he could hide it, he could have a nice time drinking Fireball until 2 AM without Beatrice knowing, and that was a godsend at a moment like this. He needed something to drink.

The automatic doors opened and he felt the rush of heated air wash over his whole body and numb his chilly core. The grocery list wasn’t that expansive, so Grayson had a lot of room in his wallet to buy the alcohol he needed to get past all of the bullshit Beatrice was pulling on him. Not like he blamed her for everything, he wasn't going to get that angry. He just didn’t know why she picked this murder thing up and decided she was going to be the next top detective, it just didn’t make sense. Where did she get all of that drive and motivation? And, more importantly, could he have some?

Grayson brushed the thought off of his mind and continued searching for the groceries they needed. After all, it was stupid to think that he could talk some sense into Beatrice at this point. It was past that point, into the land of no return.

The basket he was holding soon filled up with food and other junk and he turned into the alcohol side of the last aisle to nab some Fireball when-

_THUNK._

“Hey, watch where you’re-”

Grayson had come face to face with the man he had seen at the coffee shop earlier today, except he looked… different. His hair and face looked the same, but he looked brighter and not all washed out like earlier before. The gray from his complexion was gone, and he wore an unusually happy smile.

“Holy hell, I’m sorry, dude. Didn’t see you there!” The man chuckled hesitantly and waved at Grayson who was still confused and awestruck.

“Wait, you’re-”

“Oh?”

“I… I saw you at the coffee shop earlier today, but then you disappeared before I could get a closer look. I’ve seen you before, though, other than today. Where have I-”

“Seán. Call me Seán.” The man stuck out his hand a little forcefully and his smile broadened. Grayson hated the fact that Seán kept cutting him off, but he took his hand and shook it only once. Why was he even saying his name to him in the first place, anyway?

“Wait, you’re supposed to be… I think I’ve seen your face?”

“Huh, I guess I do get around…” He stared off absentmindedly for a moment, muttering to himself. “... Anyway, I guess it’s just a weird case of deja vu, right?” He whipped his head around to face Grayson, and then looked at the floor.

Grayson didn’t respond to that, nor did he want to. This conversation was getting more uncomfortable by the minute.

“O-ok, look, erm, _Seán_ , I really have to get going, so I’m just going to head out-” Grayson quickly grabbed a bottle of Fireball and turned around to walk away-

“Oh, one more thing.”

Grayson stopped. “What?”

“Make sure you tell your friend I said hi, and tell her that the cards are waiting for her.”

“Wait, how do you know about-”

He blinked, for only a second, and felt air push past him, then opened his eyes to reveal that Seán was gone once again. Whoever he was, he was super fast at walking, otherwise, Grayson would have totally seen him walk away. But the most disturbing fact was that Seán knew Beatrice. How? When? Who were these “fans” he had, and why was he seeming to appear everywhere today? The questions spun around and made Grayson’s head throb, so he decided to leave them alone and check out his items.

As soon as he was walking out of the doors and down the street, he had gotten a text from Beatrice saying that she was calmed down and that he could come back to the apartment. He _was_ going to go back regardless because it was so fucking cold, but he was grateful she answered now. Maybe he could tell her about that encounter he had and see if she knew anything.

Worth a shot.

________

_“YOU MET SEÁN MCLAUGHLIN?”_

Beatrice was absolutely astounded when Grayson told her the meeting he had with the strange man in question, and Beatrice scolded him for “living under a rock for 3,000 years” as she put it.

“I mean, yeah, he was the man I saw at the coffee shop earlier today, so-”

“ _THE_ SEÁN MCLAUGHLIN. SERIOUSLY, GRAY.”

“I’m serious!”

“That’s, like, a SUPER famous dude. He’s really popular on the internet and shit, I watch his videos sometimes and he’s super funny-”

“Woah woah woah, slow down, Bea. So he’s, like, a YouTuber or something?”

“YES, you dolt! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you the whole time! I didn’t know he lived here! In fact-”

She paused abruptly, a puzzled look growing on her face. “It doesn’t make any sense. How can he be in two places at once?”

“I don’t know, but he did tell me one other thing. He told me… he told me to tell you that the cards are waiting for you.”

Beatrice was now painfully puzzled. “What the…”

“That’s all I got, then he rushed off and left me standing there. Out of all the people I know, you should have some sort of answer to that statement. I don’t know who this Seán person is, but I don’t think he’d be getting cryptic like that, just for you.”

“I mean, I met him at PAX East once, and that was the only time I ever met him. Gray, that was two _years_ ago.”

“It does make you think, though.”

“I’ll write it down and look into it. For now, let’s discuss what I found while you were out.”

Beatrice shoved some journals out of the way and took out her notepad filled to the very last page with notes. Most of the journals were in a nice pile on the floor, but there were papers all over them (some crumpled up, some not). Grayson was utterly astounded by how much this girl could write in so little time.

“So I only have a couple of the more recent journals left to read, there wasn’t that many when you find the parts that don’t serve many purposes… I did manage to find a ton of evidence about some potential suspects. Here, look.”

Grayson peeked over to see that she had written down the name of a director he had never heard of but _she_ knew of regardless. He had tons of awards, however, and a huge name for himself in the local film community. So, if he was such a great guy, why was he here?

“I found an interview of one of the directors of The Daily Performance, and in an interview, he said this;

‘There have been several occasions that the head corporate president of our local movie studio has paid many workers of our newspaper to keep quiet about the recent death of our dear friend James, and I’ve always raised an eyebrow’, says director Brant Sterling. ‘If he really wanted to bribe us to stop talking about it, what’s the taboo? Did James do something and the director didn’t like it? Let’s just hope this interview doesn’t get archived, right?’ He stated jokingly, and we agreed that we would make sure this interview would be perfectly safe.”

“Seems interesting. I guess that means we figured it out, then. We tried. We succeeded. Now we can stop this searching and breaking into dead people’s homes, right?”

‘Well… what about the clue you gave me?”

“So that’s a _clue_ now?”

“The letter in the woods said that _multiple_ people were killed, and the person writing must’ve wanted us to figure out every one of them in order to ‘bring them peace’ or some shit.”

“So?”

“We have to keep searching, starting with the thing Seán said… the cards are waiting for us...”

Grayson threw back his head and groaned. This was messing with his brain, and he did _not_ have much energy to think anymore about it. Maybe he could think more about it tomorrow, and not spend the next three hours trying to work with half-awake mind.

“Alright. You work on that. I’m gonna go to bed and try to get some sleep. Have luck with your research, Bea.”

Beatrice, although ready to protest, didn’t let out anything else than a small sigh. Against all her previous judgment, she gave in. “Alright, alright. Go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Don’t stay up too late.”

Grayson couldn’t help but snort. “Oh mom, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, then. Go off to bed, and I’ll come to tuck you in.”

She didn’t hear him respond verbally, but she knew he was rolling his eyes at her while he got up from the couch to drift into the kitchen, grab something Beatrice couldn’t quite see, and drift back into the hallway before disappearing out of her sight completely. With that settled, she got back to work.

The next few hours consisted of a long search through too many pages for her liking. Still, she found everything fascinating and well worth the wait and effort. Everything about James’s writing, the way he talked about his life as an actor, it all seemed so satisfying. The man genuinely loved his work and put so much passion into his career.

Too bad he was, erm, _dead._

After a few more pages, though, she stumbled upon a page that made her stop for a long moment. Beatrice even had to read it twice to make sure she wasn’t imagining things by herself.

_Dear diary,_

_I officially do not know what is happening to my brain. It’s been over two months and not a single night goes by without me having a strange dream. The woods seem to help, but I’ve been going there less often nowadays because of the fear in my gut that has started to form there. It doesn’t help that it’s so bloody cold and that the days are getting shorter. I really should be getting to bed earlier. Then again, that means longer dreams._

_I’m bad at balancing my priorities._

_J.J._

She thought about that for a while. What was so familiar with that entry? The emotion, the fear… was it just those woods which were haunted by the ghosts of unfair, cruel fates? Beatrice shuddered at the thought, even if there was no breeze drifting in the room.

It was ghosts. 100 percent.

Great, now that was more food for thought.

Maybe it was time for her to go to bed as well. She’d been at this for so long her brain was fried. She hoped Grayson was doing well, too. She didn’t mean to get that angry at him, but she just felt so conflicted about his approach towards this. He either brushed it off like it was nothing or randomly freaked out over petty things. He was easy to read if you were reading a stone tablet with two-thirds of the ancient scribblings worn away.

Beatrice hated that about him.

Getting up from the couch (in which the old springs made the most awful metal creaking sound), she piled all of her notes and diaries into a nice pile on the floor near the table and turned off most of the lights in the living room. A creeping thought in the back of her mind told her to sit back down and continue to work on the case (was it a case now?), but she pulled back and took the better judgment. The work would be there tomorrow.

 _Actual_ work would be tomorrow, as well.

God, why couldn’t things be simple?

Her brain was still buzzing even when she washed up and got into bed. Even when it was dark and quiet, Beatrice found herself staring at the ceiling of her room and thinking about the days to come. How was she going to balance both investigating and her normal job? Was all of this even worth it? How was any of this her responsibility if she didn’t even know these long dead people?

Was it just for the thrill of mystery?

As much as she kept overthinking, the thoughts swimming around in her mind were slipping away along with her conscience as she finally drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH. MY. GOD.  
> This took way too long to write, honestly. I procrastinate way too much and this is only chapter 3. I still have so much to write and I hope that'll get better as the holiday break rolls around because, by god, school is kicking me in the ass. BUT STILL!  
> If you enjoyed this new chapter, do those things; kudo, comment, and conspire!


	5. Separate

Morning hit Beatrice like a bucket of ice.

As she slowly sat up and came to terms with the idea of reality, she glanced at her clock, realizing that she woke up about 30 minutes later than she intended to. What a fantastic start to her already fantastic day.

Getting out of bed seemed to take way too much effort, as well as finding something suitable to wear to the office. As much as she could get by in the journaling field, the cards seemed to deal her a very boring hand.

The cards.

Remember that, Beatrice.

All dressed for the day, she drifted out the door and down the hallway, walking into the main room and into the open kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee and grabbing some toast and cereal to eat. As much as it would be better to just hop in the car and drive to Starbucks on the way or something, she didn’t want to waste the money that could be saved for something more important. Plus, Grayson had just bought some more food. It was available.

After she had sunk into a chair at the kitchen table and ate her bowl of cereal and piece of toast with an effort that was a bit underwhelming, she heard the coffee machine beep and saw Grayson walk in, right on cue. As soon as he saw the coffee, he frowned again. But this time, the frown was lopsided and odd, like a child’s.

He’d been drinking again, hadn’t he?

“Grayson, come on. You know better than this,” Beatrice heard herself mutter. In response, she got a hasty scoff.

“Itzfinee, Beeea,” He mumbled back, trudging over to the kitchen and grabbing a mug out of the cupboard.

“I’m serious, Grayson. I don’t know what made you start doing this, but it’s been almost a month now. You’re on thin ice. I… I know you probably don’t know what I’m saying, but-”

“Beeeaaa-”

“Grayson, please, I just… I’m worried about you. I don’t know what’s going on recently, and I really didn’t mean to argue with you last night… was that why you bought more alcohol?” She didn’t look up at him, which was either a good thing or a bad thing. She didn’t seem to fix it, though.

“Beeeeeeaaaa, It’zokayyyyyyyyyyyy.” His slurred words were piercing in her mind and she wanted them to stop. She didn’t want to have to deal with this again.

“Grayson, Listen to me. We’re going to get you breakfast and then send you back to bed. When I come home I better expect you to be in your bedroom, sleeping or doing something else relaxing. No wandering out of this apartment, alright?” She knew he couldn’t understand her. Not really. But she tried anyway.

“But Beaaaaaa-”

“Come on. We’re gonna take care of you, because God knows you can’t do that yourself, Gray…”

Grayson was standing there with his cup in hand, watching Beatrice with wide bug-eyes as she took the mug from his hand and topped it off with some coffee made just to his liking. A bowl of cereal followed soon after and she urged him to sit down at the table like a civilized human being and eat his food. Once or twice she had the urge to leave and get ready for work, but she didn’t want to leave Grayson alone. Not only did she feel like a babysitter, she probably was going to be late for work if she didn’t start getting ready. Eventually, she gave in and started packing her bag for the day.

She heard the groans of her roommate behind her as he slowly sat up and grabbed his dirty dishes to throw into the sink. Beatrice heard the clank it made with the surface of the sink as he shuffled his way out of the kitchen area and back down the hall. She saw him appear for a brief moment out of the corner of her eye before vanishing once again, in which she could finally let out a sigh of relief as she slung her backpack over her shoulders and walked out the door, looking only down the hallway in front of her.  
________

Grayson felt absolutely dreadful.

The mysterious feeling of food in his stomach appeared out of nowhere and he found himself in his bed before he could even be aware that he had walked there by himself in the first place. His head was throbbing, he could barely remember what happened last night, and he had a weird, disgusting taste in his mouth.

So yeah, he was doing great.  
________

Beatrice was now suddenly aware of how unusually quiet the hallway was this morning.

Her neighbors were probably either still asleep or doing their business off somewhere else today. The feeling of another Monday hung in the air and forced its way into her head, clouding up her thoughts.

The whole elevator ride down, she kept thinking about that clue Grayson had obtained last night. Of course, the fact that Seán himself was actually here out of all places in the world was the most absurd coincidence, and the fact that he started speaking like an oracle didn’t help, either.

Anyway.

Work.

Hooray.

Beatrice soon picked up the pace as she walked into the lobby and out of the building, getting into the car to drive to the daily grind. To be honest, her job wasn’t all that interesting. Working for the local newspaper actually didn’t bring much news OR paper. While being an editor was nice and all, she would’ve gotten the hell out of dodge a year ago if it hadn’t paid as well as it did. At times like these, she really wished Grayson had gotten another job by now.

Stop thinking about it, Beatrice. Come on.  
________

He really had to start waking up earlier.

The alcohol wasn’t helping, of course. Just one more thing that made him more of a fuck up than he already was. What was he, anyway? He wasn’t even himself.

For fuck’s sake, Gray, stop thinking. You’re fine, it’s just the alcohol, wake up.

Grayson collapsed onto his bed and didn’t bother to cover himself with his sheets. In fact, he didn’t even want to fall back asleep. No matter how long he closed his eyes, he just couldn’t do it, What the hell was going on?

Instead of dwelling on it, he slowly sat up and got out of bed, trudging out the door and back into the living room. There he saw the neat piles of journals and papers Beatrice made last night.

Suddenly, everything came flooding back to him.

The house. The journals. The clues. The mysterious man.

He found himself getting pulled towards the coffee table and sat down on the couch before taking the action into account. While Beatrice was at work, he could at least do something useful for once.

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed a notepad lying on the table and the top journal of the stack and opened up to the first page.  
________

She was so glad work wasn’t that far from the apartment, which was yet another thing that kept her chained to this job. Plus, she wasn’t much of a person to complain about anything. Sure, she bitched and moaned all she wanted in her head, but she was smart enough to never say anything out loud in fear of getting in trouble. Good thing she had the self-control that Grayson never was able to adapt with, otherwise there would be so many occasions where they both would’ve gotten in trouble.

God, all of those college memories came flooding back now with her mind on the subject. The late nights, the classes, the parties. Of course, she didn’t really miss a lot of it, but they were memories nonetheless. The parties were few and the homework was plenty, but the parties she did actually end up going to always ended with her going after Grayson while running away from whatever authorities were called. She didn’t particularly take pride in those moments now, especially when she was trying so hard to forget them.

Stop worrying about the past, Beatrice. It doesn’t matter now.

She ended up getting to work faster than she thought she did and got out of the car and into the building while she was lost in her own bittersweet nostalgia. She heard people say things to her, like a friendly “good morning!” or “how’re you today, Miss Johnson?”, but she didn’t process it. In fact, she didn’t even stop to wave hello.

As soon as she sat down at her desk, though, her brain decided that now was the time to acknowledge her existence, and she glanced around spacily at her surroundings before coming face to face with one of her colleagues, a man in which she had only met once at an office party.

“Hey, uh, Miss Johnson? You okay?”

Her breath stopped for just a moment as she tried her hardest not to choke to death. She figured that she was so lost in her own head that coming face to face with someone seemed like a near-death experience. She blinked a few times to try and get a bit clearer before continuing.

“Hey, Peter.”

Peter’s frown deepened and he knit his eyebrows, giving Beatrice a look of concern. “Miss Johnson, are you sure you’re doing alright? You walked in here like you were floating on the moon. Something seems clearly wrong.”

Beatrice felt odd, but she didn’t place it. “No, no. I’ll be fine. I probably didn’t get enough sleep, if I were to be honest.”

An awkward silence.

“… Well, if that’s the case, then I’ll just leave you be. H-Have a good rest of your morning, Miss Johnson.”

As soon as Peter turned the corner, Beatrice rolled her eyes and laughed.

Jesus, I’m not royalty around here. You can call me Beatrice and I’ll be fine with it, She thought as she started up her computer with an unfocused glance. Another long, arduous day. One that was going to be hopelessly drowned with all the others.

She was indifferent about it.  
________

If one thing was for sure, Grayson admired how efficient and thought-out Beatrice was. Not only were her notes clean, but they were also organized. Everything was in its own place, and she had left everything as nice and neat as he could muster. When he started writing, her format made his look like a serial murderer’s scribblings on a wall.

Still, as he scanned the weathered pages of the journal, he found himself getting pulled into Jameson’s writing. Not only was he pretty prolific, but he was also inventive. Despite writing entries about his life, he also wrote poems about the things around him, stories about fantasy worlds that (unfortunately in his case) never came to pass. Who knew that some actor guy from the 1920s could be that imaginative? Figures.

As he continued jotting down chicken scratch and flipping pages, the more confusing the entries became. Less and less of them were about the daily grind and more about his way, WAY more personal life. Getting beat up at a speakeasy, having surreal and sometimes terrifying nightmares, dealing with his throat injury, and much more. Grayson should’ve expected this since James probably thought that no one was going to go through his past like this.

_To this journal,_

_Sometimes I wake up at night from nightmares about the war and how everything was ending around me. It wasn’t like I complained when I got sent home for the injury. A blessing in disguise could only mildly describe it. Problem is, I can’t speak very loudly, which really doesn’t help when dealing with the copious amount of interviews that happen every week. Even for that reason, it was a miracle I was able to survive at all. I still shudder when I think about it, how I could be dead right now._

_I might as well. According to Mr. Hastings, I might as well be a cold corpse._

_J.J._

For some odd reason, the last statement shook him harder than he had expected it to. The ominous and off-putting tone of the last line didn’t really sit well with him. If he was reading these right, then it was just going to drive more downhill from here.

More notes, and more hand cramps. Grayson found himself falling into the pages as he got lost in the words. The world was completely blocked off from his engagement as he continued to read. If only Beatrice could see him now, not a lonely hangover without a job. Maybe he could get into this investigating business.  
________

She REALLY shouldn’t have left him alone at the apartment.

Not only was he hung over, but he also looked so pale and sickly when she saw him this morning, his soft gaze glancing all around the room as she pushed him back into bed. Beatrice was already so lost in her damn mind that she could barely focus on the work in front of her, much less the screen itself. With another boring day at work came another day of subsided complaining from both her co-workers and the inside of her own head, while she kept typing away on her keyboard like it was nothing.

With minutes passing by at a glacial pace, she decided that the only way to make her lunch break more bearable was to do some research while she had the time. Since Grayson was probably sleeping like a log, she would have to take matters into her own hands.

She just hoped that enough information could be available about Jameson for her to actually make some progress.  
________

At long last, Grayson got to the last journal, his hand throbbing and his fingers begging for mercy. He should have probably taken a break from all of this writing by now, but all he did end up doing was get up and walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water, shuffling his way back onto the couch and getting back to work, flipping to the next page.

_I think there’s a new theater being built down the street. Everyone’s been talking about it for the last week, and Mr. Hastings is getting super concerned and stressed out, which leaves him worrying about other things than bossing me around. The first breath of fresh air in a long, long time._

_I heard that the theater would house a very admired magician, someone whose name I don’t recognize. Everyone seems to be more excited for that then for the new film, which is why Mr. Hastings is more cross than usual. I’ve got to be careful._

_J.J_

But wait, didn’t he- odd. Grayson wrote a few notes from the entry and continued on.

_Journal,_

_I think Mr. Hastings has gone insane. No one on the set wants to be around him anymore, and he’s always getting a few feet of space from anyone who talks to him. Not only has he been screaming over the stupidest things, he accidentally knocked over a set piece and almost crushed someone underneath it. It feels like the whole studio has gotten dimmer and darker nowadays, and people are leaving the team one by one._

_I don’t think I’m safe anymore._

Grayson had to put the book down and think about it for a moment.

He wasn’t stupid, that was for sure. If this Mr. Hastings was going cuckoo, then he was pretty sure how this was going to end. In fact, the more Grayson thought about it, the more idiotic and foolish he felt for taking that long to go through all those entries. The answer was almost screaming at him in the face from the beginning. It was obvious.

So why did he feel like it wasn’t that simple?

With discomfort and a tinge of speculation, he picked up the notepad and jotted down a few more notes (something along the lines of “Mr. Hastings, prime suspect of JJ’s death”) before putting the whole thing to rest. Maybe he could tell Beatrice when she got back from work. She would know what to do.

His eyes hurt. Grayson didn’t want to look at another goddamn page today and just go back to bed. Why did he get up in the first place? All it did was just remind him of how unreasonably comfortable his own bed was- yeah, sleep would be GREAT right about now.  
________

While absentmindedly chewing on a turkey sandwich, Beatrice was looking up more articles about James, sitting on the curb in the office parking lot. She didn’t want anyone looking at her work while she was on investigation duties, and getting asked questions was the worst of her worries.

The articles about this man were far from expansive, which made finding any sort of important information on him even more difficult. Why was this guy so famous in town, but barely known anywhere else? Weren’t movies played in surrounding areas when they released? It sure was that way now, and she’d seen it when going further into the bigger cities to see movies with Grayson.

She grew more suspicious as she kept reading, and Beatrice only came to the conclusion that;

\- Jameson was born in 1894  
\- He grew up in a small town outside of this city  
\- He was in the war for a brief time  
\- He was a locally famous actor

Nothing else. No information about his place in the war, nothing about his apparent throat injury and nothing about the movies he was in or the people that he worked for. She found it frustrating on no end and found herself staring at her laptop, reading and rereading over and over again to find even the tiniest scrap of information that there could be left.

After several more minutes of pain, she gave up and finished her sandwich, feeling the defeat rising and destroying her hopeful mood. The journals, she decided, were probably the only source of true evidence they had that would amount to anything useful.

She hoped that Grayson was getting a good rest.  
________

Grayson found himself drawn to his bed as he collapsed into a twisted, chaotic pile of fuzzy blankets and pillows. Sleeping until Beatrice came home was probably in his best efforts, but he couldn’t stop thinking about all of what he just read. It wasn’t right. Something didn’t feel right.

Maybe it would get solved eventually.

Eventually.  
________

Beatrice had watched the clock obsessively for the last 3 hours, nervously bouncing up and down with nagging anticipation. She had gotten all of her work done in a rush without even checking it over to see if she had even gotten any of the requirements done for the daily grind. It didn’t matter. All she wanted to do was get home.

The clock kept ticking. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

The clock on her computer turned to 6:30 PM, and she promptly shut off her computer and burst out of her seat with a relieved smile on her face. Never in her life had she wanted to get out of this goddamn office than today.

She snatched her coat off the back of her chair and shrugged it on, hastily grabbing her laptop bag and slinging it over her shoulder. On the way out the door, Beatrice tried not to make eye contact with anyone passing her, seeing as she was literally rushing down the hallway like she was on steroids. Unfortunately, she just had to be stopped by the worried face of Peter, almost crashing into him.

“Hey, Miss Johnson?”

Beatrice managed to regain her balance and look up at her colleague with only half a look of interest. “What do you need?”

“Oh, I just wanted to let you know about the party that’s happening tomorrow-”

“I’m not going.”

“I- oh. Okay.” Peter’s voice was immediately drained and it sounded like the rawest, heart-tugging form of disappointment Beatrice had heard. For a moment, she even felt bad for dismissing him.

“It’s just that…” She searched her mind for a viable lie to give. “I have family business to attend to, and my parents don’t want me to miss it. Sorry.”

Peter looked at her, stared at her, but then smiled again. “That’s fine. I’ll tell the boss that you won’t be coming then. Hope you have safe travels, wherever you’re going.”

With that, Peter walked past her, leaving her to brood in her own thoughts as she picked up the pace and hurried out of the office.  
________

Grayson didn’t hear Beatrice come in, but definitely saw her when she came in through his bedroom door.

He shot up from his position, blankets encasing him and his hair sticking up wherever it pleased. Beatrice had to admit that she chuckled at the sight as her roommate gave her his signature glare.

“Did you get good sleep while I was at work? You know that you have a lot of time to yourself now.”

Yeah, he had too much time after what happened.

She got no response from him, so that prompted her to bring up something obvious. “I see that you’ve tampered with my notes.”

At the last word, Grayson scrambled out of bed, almost falling on his side, rushing to meet Beatrice in the doorway as he hushed her and spewed a few words that sounded like “I need your help because we might have figured this out”.

Taking her by the hand, he led her to the coffee table, immediately crashing onto the couch and grabbing whatever evidence he needed to prove some sort of point he thought was important. Beatrice watched as he grabbed journals, flipped papers, read through notes and skimmed every last goddamn inch of writing until he laid everything out neatly so that it could be understandable.

Beatrice had no clue what to say. She tried.

“You… did this?”

“While you were gone, I got up off my ass.”

“I… wow, Gray. I don’t know what to say, man.”

“Then don’t say anything.”

The next reasonably large chunk of time was spent with both of them intently going over the notes that they both worked on, with Beatrice chiming in with “That happened?” or an “Oh man, I never saw that before”. Sometimes, the rare “I think I’ve connected something” came along with absolutely no coherent connection that followed that statement. By the end, though, it had seemed they had both thrown in the towel.

“It was so obvious, Bea. We knew that it was probably Mr. Hastings that killed this man. I mean, come on. He went kinda crazy, and probably took it out on poor James… in the woods.”

“The middle of the woods. Just listen to yourself.”

“But I’m just saying that it would’ve been quiet! Out in the trees, no witnesses…”

“Well, I’ll keep it in mind, but we still have to figure out about how it all conne-”

Beatrice stopped. Right then and there. Her face changed several times throughout several different facial expression before gluing her eyes down at the table, her gaze darting around for something she wanted to find.

“Bea, come on. I think I just hit another dead end by writing this down. I don’t really thin-”

“Shhhh. Shut up. I’m thinking.”

Grayson promptly shut up and Beatrice’s eyes flickered to the notepad as she grabbed it, flipping through pages and looking back at diaries before-

“YES! GRAYSON MILLER, YOU ARE A GENIUS!”

Her outburst caused Grayson to almost topple over from the shock, a heart attack, or both. The triumphant smile on Beatrice’s face said so many words that couldn’t come out of her mouth as she snatched up a pen and scribbled down something fast and vague in one of the margins of the notes.

“Grayson, you wrote down the next piece of the puzzle without even realizing it. Just look at this!”

_“I think there’s a new theater being built down the street… I heard that the theater would house a very admired magician, someone whose name I don’t recognize…”_

“What about the magician?”

Beatrice almost rolled her eyes into the back of her head. “Remember what Seán said?”

“The… the cards…”

“They’re waiting for us. Wherever this theater is…”

“That must be the next piece to the puzzle!”

In the end, both of their eyes were sparkling with the sort of gleam you’d expect from a toddler after they’ve been to Disney World, but they didn’t care.

They solved the first piece of the puzzle. Sure, more was to come, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t celebrate.

Beatrice jotted a few more notes down before throwing the pen on the table and giving Grayson her purest, happiest look of fulfillment he had seen on her face in such a long time.

“Tomorrow, Grayson. Tomorrow, we find some magic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear lord, this wasn't meant to take this long.  
> But yeah, school's in the way, exams and all of that. This, officially, wraps up JJ's section. You won't be seeing much more of him from here on out, sadly. But still, I hope you all are enjoying this adventure so far! I'm having a blast writing it and it's been almost therapeutic for me to sit down for a while and just let ideas flow. Alright, alright, enough talkin. If you did, in fact, enjoy it, do those things: comment, kudo, conspire. See ya'll soon!


	6. 1921.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> October 31st, 1921.

Lights, camera, action  
The film had lost its traction,  
He couldn't speak a word,  
No, he couldn't be heard,  
Thought the trees would hear,  
But his end had grown near.   
  



	7. Magic

**“They’re figuring it out.”**

**“Figuring out** **_what_ ** **?”**

 **“That they’re onto me.** **_They’re onto me_ ** **.”**

________

 

“Are you sure this is the address?”

The building looked sadly neglected, and with it being so far on the outskirts of the city borders, it was almost surprising they saw any cars parked in the lot.

It was, surprisingly, a magic-themed museum. And as much as a magic-themed museum wasn’t in their hearts and minds, it was the only standing memory of the theater built almost 100 years ago. They took their chances.

“Who even decided that this was a good idea?”

“I don’t know. Something tells me that this doesn’t really scream ‘magician-themed kids parties’.”

“Grayson, I’m pretty sure that people didn’t throw birthday parties here.”

“Your call.” He shrugged, taking the front and leading them both to its doors.

While the theater’s infrastructure was old, the interior didn’t look all that far from new. The walls were lined with dark purple curtains, gold trim weaving its way along the edges. The carpet was a strange trippy design of black and white, which gave Grayson a headache.

At the front desk sat a man with his feet propped up, reading a newspaper that covered his face so that they couldn’t identify his features. As soon as the door closed, the man quickly scrambled out of his position and put the newspaper underneath the desk, standing up straight and carefully eying them as they walked up to the counter.

“Hello and welcome to the Smoke Stage Museum, home to all of the local magic you could ever wish for, as well as amazing artifacts about one of our city’s own, The Magnificent Mambino! Just two tickets, I presume?”

“I, erm…” Grayson nudged Beatrice in the side as she perked up and snapped her attention to the man’s waiting eyes and smiled.

“Yes, two tickets for us.”

As soon as they got their tickets, the man pointed to a door off to the right, giving the kind of reassuring smile parents would give their kids even though they’re doing something completely wrong. They kindly took the man’s directions and headed over to the other side of the room presenting them with a door and a fluorescent sign flickering the phrase ENTRANCE in bold purple letters. They continued onward.

The next room took on a different form as the lighting turned dim and warm, with deep red curtains draped down to make the walls of the narrow hallway. Artifacts lined on both sides, each behind a glass case featuring everything from hats to wands to models of animals, all with descriptions of their glory days on the big stage.

“So, first things first. Who the fuck thought ‘Mambino’ was a good name?”

Beatrice couldn’t help but stifle out a laugh. “I know, right? Who _ever_ thought that was a good idea?”

The laughter they shared was quickly concluded as Beatrice got sucked into reading every single bit of information that Grayson could care less about. He was more interested in staring at the artifacts.

“Seems like they’re all in chronological order. That’s pretty interesting.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Y’know, I find it odd why we’re even here in the first place. Since when have you taken the advice of strange cryptic celebrities?”

“Since my roommate started spilling his secrets about his illegal alcohol stashing.”

Beatrice couldn’t help but be amused as Grayson’s annoyed grumbling confirmed the fact that she was, wholeheartedly, correct. After a moment of misplaced silence, she found herself already skimming through plaques instead of taking the time to truly grasp the information.

But one did catch her eye.

It was the last one in the row. While it was a shorter paragraph then the rest, the content of it showed much more than the others.

_While Mambino showed much promise throughout his career, it sadly ended before he could truly get his feet off the ground due to his murder in 1933. A year later, his assistant, Marvin Delaney, coincidentally suffered the same fate. While this tragedy may have been brutal, this town shall never forget the lasting impact they had on our small city._

Now, _this_ sparked her interest.

“Gray? I think I want you to read something.”

Grayson snapped out of his daze and immediately hurried over to Beatrice, peering over her shoulder and taking a quick read of the text in front of him. His expression hardened into that of confusion.

“So there was murder. And it just so happened to be here.”

Beatrice’s eyes lit up with morbid excitement. “I know! That means that another clue could be here and tell us more about these murders as a whole.”

“Wait, wait wait, hold on. I’m confused. Didn’t we already come to the conclusion that Jameson was murdered by his boss? Like, that was a separate conclusion in and of itself?”

Beatrice thought for a moment, letting her weight shift and make the wooden floorboards creak underneath her. “What about the clue that brought us here in the first place? I mean, it may just be a coincidence, but there might be a chance that they could be connected somehow."

They both evaluated this for a moment until Grayson nodded. “If that’s the case, then we better keep searching for clues.”

“Alright, Fred. Where’s the Mystery Gang going next?” For that, Beatrice earned an eye roll, but she didn’t really care. The end of the hallway called to them.

The next room presented them with an absolute clusterfuck that was… oddly organized. Tables with things you couldn’t even imagine on them were lined up against the walls, black curtains hung haphazardly along the ceiling, as well as a huge crystal chandelier illuminating the room with an ominous glow. Bird cages, flower wreaths, ribbons, bouquets, the list went on and on as they stepped into the middle of the room, providing them with a panoramic view.

The more he looked at the room, however, he found that it was more organized than he initially thought at first. It seemed to be divided up into three sections—the first was tons of awards, stacked on top of each other in grid-like formations, the second was a bunch of set pieces and props that were part of his tricks, and the last section consisted of a bunch of costumes and accessories.

Grayson found himself feeling unnaturally claustrophobic, even though the room was actually quite big. As much as he would’ve loved this if he were 7 years old, the whimsy seemed lost on him and became more confusing then interesting. By the looks of Beatrice’s dull glare, he assumed she was sharing the same feeling.

But something didn’t feel right. It was nagging him, making him irritated in an eerie sort of way. Suddenly, he felt like he wanted to leave.

The odd sensation of something tugging on his shirt sleeve caused him to look up from his mental trance to see the curious face of Beatrice, staring at him with big green eyes.

“Gray, bud, you okay?”

“Wh-wha, I- oh, yeah.” His brain wasn’t coordinating between his thoughts and what was actually in front of him, but he felt Beatrice take his hand, rubbing the middle of his palm with her thumb. He felt grounded again.

“Are you sure?”

Grayson didn’t really know how to answer that one. While he wanted to just nod his head, he knew that he was lying. There was something off here.

“Let’s… just say that I feel kinda sick in this room.”

“Then we can move on if you want,” Beatrice assured, her eyebrows knit with worry. She still didn’t let go of his hand, just in case he needed it for a little while longer.

He made his decision by letting his grip loosen, eventually letting his hand fall back down to his side and then to the pocket of his jacket.

“I’m gonna move on now, if that’s alright with you.”

Grayson gladly took the lead and they walked through to the next entryway, two dark oak doors that were intricate but worn down due to its age. They opened, and the two stepped through and into a huge expansive space.

A ceiling that rose mile high and a structure shaped like a giant oval filled to the brim with seats. It was bigger and more crowded than the other theater, more polished and efficient (well, by 1930s standards). Beatrice suddenly got hit smack dab in the head with a memory.

“I know this theater!” She frantically searched her brain until she grasped onto the information. “The Aurora, that’s it.”

“Was one of the units of your film class conveniently learning all of the local theaters?”

“Hey, to be fair, I didn’t realize this was going to come in handy with a murder case. Several, anyway.”

He shrugged. “You have a fair point.”

The fact that no one was in the room with them when there absolutely would be people was unnerving. It was better than the clusterfuck that was the last room, but while that one seemed so cluttered and suffocating, this one felt... empty. Like something important was missing.

“So, when’s the investigating going to come into play?”

“Well, it would help if we could find something worth investigating first."

"Right, right."

Grayson found himself blanking out again, the energy he once had slowly fizzing out of his body, but Beatrice kept swatting his arm like an annoying fly so that he could stay awake. The low, quiet humming of the air vents droned on in their ears.

But then he saw that stage, and that rope.

“Beatrice, why-”

At the mention of her name, she glanced at him, then up to where Grayson was looking. Her eyes twitched like she always did when she was nervous, biting her lip like she was questioning something. Then she just shook her head.

A quiet glance, and then he just put it off. He was seeing things, there wasn’t a noose hanging down from the stage, that wasn’t possible.

“... O-kay, that’s the weirdest thing we’ve seen so far.”

“You sure about that, Bea?”

“I don’t think we’ve seen full on nooses yet, so we can check that off the list.”

“Good to know, good to know.”

The obvious elephant in the room was more or less suited to be discussed at a later date, so they both quietly put it on the back burner as the empty space was quietly searched for an exit, which presented itself as an open entrance to a long, narrow hallway that definitely didn’t look creepy as fuck at _all_.

A hallway like the kind you would see in a hotel greeted them, with the musty smell of forgotten care and attention clinging to every fiber of the place. Just a straight walk down to the gift shop area and the exit to the back parking lot. Nothing too difficult.

The sides were lined with look-in exhibits, a rope blocking the doorway but allowing them to peek into the rooms and see their insides. No reading to go along with it, but the rooms definitely spoke for themselves. Weird layouts, tons of clothing racks and mirrors, and a lot of dust covering every surface.

“Something tells me that this might not be the exit, Bea.”

“Don’t panic, maybe it is. Maybe we just have to.. explore further.”

“I was afraid you were gonna say that.”

They took their time drifting down the passageway, both drinking in the scenery around them. But as they moved farther and farther, the number of open rooms go smaller and smaller. More doors were closed, with signs that read “DO NOT ENTER” taped to their surfaces. It felt like more of a construction zone than an actual final exhibit.

The end of the hallway turned out to be a dead end, forcing them to realize that the only way out was going right back the way they came. Beatrice sighed, running a hand through her messy curls as a glance scanning both sides of the hallway seemed fruitless. Maybe checking doors would be the best bet for now, since there wasn’t anything else to do.

“In the meantime, it could be good to investigate these rooms and see what turns up,” Beatrice noted.

“You seriously think was could find some evidence here? C’mon, most of the stuff was probably cleared out when they remodeled it for the museum.”

“Well, there’s a fair chance that they forgot at least _something_ of importance. Let’s go check it out.”

Grayson stubbornly obliged, accompanying her to the closest door that wasn’t closed but blocked off, watching her just slip right under the rope like nothing was wrong. He regrettably followed suit.

From the looks of the inside, it just seemed like an average dressing room. Clothes were hanging on a somewhat small rack in the corner, with a vanity sitting right center up against the back wall, with makeup and accessories strewn all over its surface. It felt chaotic, even though it was eerily silent in the room.

The first immediate action that came to Beatrice’s mind was to start searching for clues about Mambino’s assistant… what was his name? Damn, she already forgot it. Maybe it could come back to her once she started sifting through his things.

Meanwhile, Grayson was having a fun time trying not to sneeze his brains out from all the dust floating everywhere.

The vanity had all sorts of makeup in a bunch of different shades, with the lights surrounding the edges of the mirror dim to the point that they would have seemed completely turned off when you looked at it from far away. Seems that the dust in the air also announced the age of this place, if that meant anything.

Beatrice looked back to the door, all the way open and read “MAMBINO” in big block letters. “Seems like Mambino’s dressing room. Wonder if Marvin had one of his own,” She pondered, running her hands across the surface of the desk to see her fingers covered in a thin film of dust when she put them up to the warm, dim light.

“Would make sense if he did,” Grayson responded, glancing over to see something out of the corner of his eye-

But it disappeared.

He heard the soft gasp out of his ear and turned to see Beatrice cupping a hand over her mouth, holding up a bundle of cloth (blanket? towel? cape?) to see a bloody mess.

A wig, obviously, because the color was too obnoxiously bright to be real hair, and because Grayson saw the wig cap stitched inside of the top. But the reddish-brown specks flicked across the surface of the fake hair didn’t really seem all that natural, unless the person who made it thought sprinkling in red paint that looked like 100% blood onto a wig seemed to make a fashion statement.

Besides the wig, however, was a knife. It gleamed just a bit when Beatrice lifted the cloth up and exposed it to the dim mirror lights, and the knife shared the same red as the wig did. If he didn’t have the urge to throw up then, Grayson definitely had that urge now.      

Beatrice just… looked up and stared. Stared at him, her big green eyes flickering with confusion and worry. He wanted to explain it away, but… he couldn’t. He didn’t know how.

“... do you think this is Marvin’s?” Beatrice asked, the shaking in her voice clear as crystal.

“I… I don’t know."

They both froze there in silence for a long time.

Beatrice’s hand dropped the cloth back down, hiding their new discovery from the world and leaving it for the next unfortunate person to find. Slowly getting up, she tagged along with Grayson to go back out into the hallway.

Once back outside, they moved on down the row to the next door. This one, unfortunately, was closed and locked when Beatrice jiggled the doorknob. Grayson gave a pitiful shrug, then turned to walk back down-

“No, no. I think… I think we should go in here.”

“Are you serious? C’mon, it’s locked, there’s nothing we can do-”

“Since when have you ever had a problem with locked doors? Since when have you ever second-guessed about breaking and entering? You’re just trying to keep me back because I’m along with you and-”

“Stop it, _stop_ , just… it’s unpleasant, doing all of this. You know that.”

Beatrice stopped at that, stared at him again with those stupidly big green eyes. Then she sighed.

“... right. I’m sorry.”

A solemn nod was all they shared as they stood and stared at the surface of the door, unsure of what to do next.

Suddenly breaking the silence, she slammed her body against the wood, growling in anger when the result was futile, and making Grayson jump back from surprise. After that awkward moment of failure, he finally straightened up again.

“... Fine. I’ll help.”

Grayson just simply slammed his foot against the area near the lock and the door flew open, leaving them to gaze upon the now open room.

“I’m impressed.”

“How flattering of you to say.”

Now allowed (forced) entry, they stepped into the room, already cringing at the disgusting smell of the air around them. It smelled like a week’s worth of dirty socks in a pile in the corner of some kid’s bedroom, mixed with the stench of rotting lemons.

“Jesus, what was this guy eating?” Beatrice exclaimed, pinching her nose out of disgust.

“It’s another dressing room.”

Beatrice looked at Grayson, then around the room to come to the conclusion that yes, it was another dressing room. Both curious about whether or not it was Marvin’s, they both rushed to go check and see.

“Huh, look at this. I found a whole bunch of stuff, like his coat and hat and stuff. The inside of the hat has the initials ‘M.D’ stitched into it, so that’s a pretty good sign it’s his. Unless this pair of letters mean ‘Medical Doctor’ and not ‘Marvin Delaney’, which could be unlikely.”

Grayson hummed a quick response of agreement and not looking up from where he was investigating, a costume rack with a whole load of glittery costumes that burned his eyes. Bright colors, flashy patterns, and honest to god design choices that made him sick when staring at them for too long. This guy’s taste in clothes was weird.

“Wait, hold on, look at this. Seems to be some folded up papers in his book bag here. Maybe the same thing as Jameson’s, and we could read some diary entries.”

“Well, if it’s the same thing, then I guess it could provide good information.” Grayson made an effort to drop what he was doing and wander over to Beatrice, staring down at what she was reading. They looked like… letters. Formal too. He leaned in closer to read along.

_Dear **...**_

_I’m so sorry that I can’t live up to the expectations that you desired. I’ve done something terrible and I can’t seem to forgive myself **...** _ _I’m so sorry. We could’ve had a life together but_ _I **...**_ _know that you probably won’t forgive me once I give you this letter, and to be honest I wouldn’t blame you **...** and I don’t think I can ever turn back. _

_Do remember that_ _I **...**_ _and wish you the best. I’m sorry that I’ve made a mistake I can’t correct._

_Best Wishes,_

_Marvin_

The both of them stayed quiet for a moment.

“Seems as though a bunch was crossed out for one reason or another, although I would have no clue why.”

“Maybe it’s to just… keep something between them.”

They both nodded and moved on to the next letter.

_Dear **...**_

_I can’t wait to finally meet you today. It took me so bloody long to get off work, but we don’t have a performance tonight, so I have all the time in the world to come see you. I’m so excited to finally sit down and chat, just the two of us. Can’t wait!_

_Yours Truly,_

_Marvin_

Looks like Marv’s got a little lover he’s writing to,” Grayson noted.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“Well, it seems that there _might_ be some interesting information in these letters. We’ll keep them for later.” That said, Beatrice stuffed them into her backpack and rose to her feet.

“We should probably head out soon since we found at least some evidence worth readi- FUCK!” Grayson’s words were cut short by a quick curse and a loud metal clanging sound.

When he looked down to find the source of the spiraling pain stemming from his toes, he found that he had rammed his entire foot into a large metal safe on accident. It took a while for him to grasp at that.

“Holy shit, Gray, look at this! It seems like some sort of… safe?”

Beatrice bent down to bring the lock into the light, noticing that it required four numbers to unlock it. Her mind immediately started working back to all of the four-digit numbers she may have received, but she turned up with nothing.

“Seems like a four-digit lock, but I can’t seem to remember any could that would work with it. Maybe we could find it somewhere else?”

Grayson muttered something to himself for a moment, then looked back at Beatrice. “As much as I really don’t wanna be here anymore, you’re probably right.”

“Just a couple more rooms, then I promise we’ll be on our way.”

“Promise me, Bea.”

“I promise!”

They both exchanged a small beat of laughter before it got washed over with silence, a mutual uneasiness they shared flooding through the room and making the air sour more than it already had.

Beatrice rose to her feet, adjusting her backpack straps so that they didn’t make her shoulders sore and let out a deep breath. She looked to Grayson, her eyes asking to go along.

He waited, but he didn’t know why. It was like someone froze his feet in place, and he couldn’t move no matter how much he struggled. Hesitance? Fear? The air seemed to thin out around him now.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

His feet finally moved.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, you do not understand how long I've been stuck on this chapter.  
> School is kicking my ass, I've been staying up way too late, and above all else, this project is kinda... tedious in a way? Don't get me wrong, I love writing this, but it would be nice if I got some feedback every once in a while. No pressure, though! Definitely not forcing anyone, I'm just feeling kind of uninspired at the moment. Plus, this was kind of a transition filler chapter, so hopefully, things will pick up soon. In the meantime, do those things; kudo, comment, and conspire!


End file.
